


Give and Take

by flight_feather



Series: Alternative Andromeda: Lazuli Ryder [3]
Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Career Change, Caring, Comfort, Confessions, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, Marriage Proposal, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Shot Collection, Past Abuse, Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-01-10 11:04:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 36,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12297894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flight_feather/pseuds/flight_feather
Summary: A collection of one-shots set after the events of my Reyder AURenegades, set in 2040s London. There may be spoilers for that work. Warnings are in the notes as well, as needed.





	1. In Vino Veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Submission for [Reyes Vidal Weekly Prompt #8](https://makocartwheels.tumblr.com/post/166138737344/reyes-vidal-weekly-prompt-8), In Vino Veritas: a drunken confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for drunkenness and drunk sex between consenting adults in an established relationship.

Closing time had come and gone at Tartarus, the neon lights in the windows switched off, the music quieted, the dancers sent home. Ryder sat with Kian at the bar, the bottle of whiskey between them mostly finished. She had reached buzzed hours ago and plowed straight on through to shitface-wasted, celebrating...everything. Scott waking up and on the mend. Her new job at Collective. Tann temporarily cowed by her defiantly cutting her hours at the Initiative to part-time. Finding a shared understanding with Reyes, and entering a relationship with the man. The _really_ good sex they had all the time. She smiled sloppily at that part, glad that she'd finally found a partner with an appetite and preferences that matched her own. 

Speaking of Reyes… “How long does it take to sort out a tracking ID on a shipping container, anyway?” she mused, slurring her words only a little. Reyes had excused himself and gone upstairs to deal with a message that had come in over an hour ago. 

Kian grinned, looking a little more than tipsy himself. “When the container probably contains something barely legal, you’re Reyes fucking Vidal and need every detail just so, and have trouble trusting anyone else to do it?” The barman winked, slugging back another finger of whiskey and topping them both up. 

Snorting a laugh, Ryder considered him and took another sip of her drink. “You know him pretty well.”

“Since ages,” Kian agreed, pulling open the beeping dishwasher to unload it. Steam billowed as he pulled out hot glasses with light, quick fingers. Ryder suspected that length of acquaintance wasn’t all there was to the story of Kian and Reyes but she didn’t find the idea threatening. Neither of the two men seemed inclined to resurrect whatever past lay between them, and jealousy wasn't her style anyway, so she let it be rather than make things awkward by prying. 

The door to the private room upstairs slammed, making Ryder jump, and because she was already drunk and unsteady on her stool she started to slip off of it. Kian’s hand caught her shoulder over the bar until she could steady herself again, and she snorted an embarrassed laugh at the near disaster. 

Unusually loud footsteps preceded Reyes’ reappearance at the bar, suggesting a blown temper. Strong arms bracketed her from behind and the full length of his body pressed against her as he snatched at her tumbler of whiskey. 

He downed it in one, slammed it back on the bar, refilled another three fingers, and downed that as well. Kian’s eyebrows shot up, but for the first time Ryder could remember, the man withheld comment.

“Sometimes,” Reyes snarled in the flat tones of Anubis, “I really miss killing people for a living.” Kian froze, glancing at Ryder. Nodding once to indicate that she could deal with this, she started stroking Reyes’ upper arm soothingly. She knew about his past, having caught him in the act of killing Sloane months ago. He'd also shared some of the details with her, although he’d never suggested he’d enjoyed his previous occupation as a hitman; on the contrary, it seemed to have been something he fell into and didn’t particularly like despite his admitted skill and success. 

Ryder leaned back against him, twisting her head to try getting a glimpse of his face, and he absently skimmed a hand over her chest to squeeze her throat whilst pouring himself another, more moderate serving of whiskey. She shuddered, unable to help her gasp as lust flared to life and started dampening her panties. 

“Jesus,” Kian muttered, turning to put pint glasses away.

Reyes headed for the stairs, tumbler in hand. “I’ll be upstairs,” he called over his shoulder, clearly no longer in the mood to celebrate. Ryder and Kian watched him go, glancing at each other as the door shut firmly behind him. 

“Lass, whatever magic it is you work on him...maybe give it a try now,” the bartender said, setting a fresh bottle of whiskey on the countertop. “ I've seen him get like this before. He’s about to make a decision he’ll probably regret, and you’re the only person I’ve known who's really able to level him out without putting his back up.”

Ryder searched his face, meeting suddenly sharp green eyes. _He cares for Reyes,_ she realized. _Enough to see him with someone else and still be his friend_. Leaning over the bar, she kissed Kian on the cheek. “He’s lucky to have you around,” she said with the soft and certain intensity of the shitfaced. His mouth quirked in a half-smile that suggested he heard the depth of her comprehension. “Right back at ya. Now go,” he said, pushing the bottle closer to her. There was nothing like the understanding reached between two drunk people.

Taking it, she went. 

Reyes was staring at his phone when she slipped into the room, the light of the device illuminating hardened features under the black hair that had fallen over his brow. “Anubis,” Ryder called softly, and he looked up sharply, confirming Kian’s warning. Her heart started to race; it always did when he was like this. She trusted that he wouldn’t hurt her, but danger hovered in his golden-hazel eyes and the tension in his shoulders. Whatever had set him off, he was now a coiled spring, temper under control but still ready to burst. Some strange part of her mind found it arousing rather than threatening, probably because he'd once had opportunity and motive to eliminate her as a witness to a crime and let her go. They were partners now, and having that much trust and faith in someone was heady stuff.

Wordlessly, she topped up the now-empty glass he’d brought up with him before fishing her phone out of the bag she’d left by the door earlier. She wanted to ask what had happened but he wasn’t usually interested in talking when he was like this unless it was to give orders, taunt, or tease. Anubis preferred physical action.

Selecting a song with a dark, heavy beat from her phone, Ryder made a makeshift amp by dropping it into the other, empty glass on the table. Slowly, sensually, she started stripping, watching long enough to see him lock the phone and set it aside before closing her eyes and losing herself in the bass. 

When she was naked, she opened her eyes to find him leaning forward, elbows on his knees as he watched her. Shivering with the intensity of his gaze, she stepped forward into his reach, not at all surprised when his hands flashed forward, caught her hips, and pulled her astride his lap. 

She felt the hardness of his erection as she ground against him, the fabric of his jeans pleasantly stimulating as she kissed her way from his neck to his earlobe and bit it with the point of her canine. It was the one spot - aside from his dick - that she knew would always draw a response, and she wasn’t disappointed. 

With a growl of want, Anubis slid his hands up her flanks to lift her breasts, nipping and suckling at each nipple before claiming her mouth with his. His lips were insistent, his tongue moreso as he pushed it to dance with hers. Ryder drew clawed fingers down his chest to the button fly of his jeans, undoing each one sharply enough to make him grunt. 

He lifted his hips, and her with them, long enough to tug the denim off and free his cock. With a few quick caresses of the velvety skin, Ryder guided him into her, rocking her hips and swiveling until he was deep inside her core. When she tipped her head back in pleasure, Anubis caught her throat to hold her in place and thrust upward into her. 

After a few minutes he took hold of her waist and stood, not breaking their connection, long enough to put her on her back in a free space on the nearest table and taking advantage of the new position to set a vigorous pace. She welcomed it, arching up to meet his thrusts until they finished together. He marked her chest, sucking hard at the skin, the pain of it adding an extra thrill to her orgasm. 

She could feel the intensity of his gaze as he regarded her after pulling out. Ryder, drunk and sexually sated, stayed sprawled where she was until he lifted her and set her on the couch.

“I still want to kill someone,” he growled after a sip of whiskey, sounding more like Reyes than Anubis now. 

“Congratulations, that means you’re human. As long as you don't actually plan to do it, you're normal,” Ryder replied lazily, reaching for the glass without opening her eyes. He handed it to her, taking it back for another pull when she was done. Settling on her side, she curled up and got comfortable. “Are you drunk yet?” she asked when she heard the glass settle on the metal table. 

Reyes slid in behind her on the couch, pulled her flush against him, and buried his nose in her hair. “Have been for a while,” he admitted with a small hiccup. 

“Did you mean it when you said sometimes you miss killing people for a living?” 

He didn’t reply for a long time. Ryder was drifting toward sleep when he said, “Yes,” in a harsh whisper. 

“Cos of Sloane?” she pressed, trying desperately to hang onto the thread of the conversation as whiskey and satiation and sleep fought to claim her. She felt him nod as his grip on her tightened. “It was such a...decisive solution. No more to worry about from her,” he murmured. Ryder stroked the arm draped over her waist. She didn't agree with killing as a solution…but she had to admit to feeling like some people deserved it. 

“Why are you okay with all my confessions?” Reyes asked suddenly, slurring a little. “You're a hacker, not a murderer.”

“I'm not here to judge your past,” Ryder mumbled, “and we both know I'm not squeaky clean myself.” Then, the words that she couldn't bring herself to say sober tumbled out. “Also, cos I love you.”

The light press of his lips on the back of her neck made Ryder shiver. “ _Te amo_ ,” he whispered back, and she could feel his lips curve in a smile against her shoulder. It was the last thing she remembered, finally slipping into a pleasantly drunken sleep that she'd probably pay for with a hangover in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I meant to take a break, but I haven't done a RVWP in a while. The next one-shot is nearly done as well - no smut, just Reyes' version of TLC for an ill Ryder.


	2. Sick Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryder is childish, stubborn, and a terrible patient. Reyes is bossy and not having it this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gift for blacksheep33512, who won a Tumblr ask for the prompt "Who fusses over the other when they're sick?"  
> Thanks for all your support!

The first sign that all was not well with Ryder was when she begged off their planned date night instead of coming over after her day off work at the Initiative. It wasn’t exactly a surprise when Reyes received a call from her the next morning, sounding hoarse and congested, saying she wouldn’t be doing any work that day.

“You sound like shit,” he told her bluntly. “Need anything?” 

“No,” she replied between rattling coughs. “Rest,” she amended. 

Which, given her deep-seated self-reliance, probably meant she needed a bit more than that. This was the first time in the months he’d known her that Ryder had come down with so much as a sniffle, let alone a full-blown illness. It worried Reyes, and he told her he’d be by to check on her that evening before they ended the call. Her grumbled response was vaguely affirmative, so he looked up her address in Collective’s payroll system, never actually having been there. 

_E15. This should be interesting_. He’d known she lived in Stratford, but hadn’t looked up the specific postcode before. That part of town had been a strange, fluctuating mixture of up-and-coming and down-at-heel ever since the Olympic Park had gone in thirty-ish years ago, and given Ryder’s general disinterest in social status, he had a feeling he knew which part her address was in. 

His suspicions were confirmed later when he arrived with an armload of groceries, having parked at the Westfield shopping centre and walked over to avoid having his conspicuous Land Rover sitting on the street in the wrong part of town. The building was old, one of those ugly, blocky constructions thrown up hastily after the Second World War, not intended to last a hundred years but somehow still standing and in use as human habitation. 

The lock on the entry was busted, allowing him to walk straight in, and Reyes took the stairs two at a time. Anubis stirred, unsettled by the state of the residence and the implications for Ryder’s safety. He could see her staying here in the days when she’d been working for pennies at the Initiative, but now that she was Chief of Cybersecurity at Collective Industries? No. There was no excuse. 

Shifting the groceries he carried to one hand, he knocked sharply. _This woman_ , he thought, glaring with distaste at the flickering lights and black box mousetraps in the corners. She deserved better. There was a difference between not caring about status and choosing to live in these conditions when she had the means to go somewhere safer and cleaner.

After half a minute the door cracked, a chain keeping it partially shut. Hot air gusted into the chilly hallway, and one of Ryder’s turquoise eyes was visible around the edge, a blue, knitted cap low on her brow. “Reyes?” she asked thickly. He arched his eyebrows, and the door shut long enough for the chain to rattle. 

When it opened again Reyes was hit by a suffocating wall of heat. Despite that, Ryder was shivering under sweatpants, a hoodie, a blanket, and the blue cap. Dark hollows nested under bright eyes, and her cheeks were flushed, yet not a drop of sweat beaded her brow. 

_Not good_ , Reyes thought as he closed the door behind him and dropped his groceries on the counter. “How long have you been feverish?” he asked casually as he put the rotisserie chicken in the small refrigerator, trying to avoid her stubborn streak. A glance at the thermostat said it was thirty degrees in the room and he took off his coat, then undid two more buttons on his shirt as he toed his shoes off.

“Dunno,” she responded, teeth chattering as she shuffled back to the bed, her fuzzy blue slippers scuffing against the dingy carpet. “J-just know everything h-hurts. SAM? H-how long have I had a f-f-fever?” she croaked in the general direction of the monitors set up on the desk next to the bed. 

“Your body temperature has been at forty point five degrees Celsius for nearly twenty-eight hours,” a computerized voice responded. _Shit_ , Reyes thought, concern immediately skyrocketing despite his interest in the most recent improvements to her AI. That level of fever was dangerous. 

Ryder collapsed into the mussed bedsheets with a groan, pulling them over her head and continuing to shake hard enough for it to be visible under the mound of linens. Reyes had planned to make a quick pot of soup and leave her in peace, but this was serious. Normally he avoided anything that resembled a communicable illness - he _hated_ being sick, even more than he hated being injured - but she was his to care for. “ _Pajarillo_ , we need to get that fever down. What have you taken for it?” 

“Four hundred milligrams of ibuprofen, approximately eight hours ago,” SAM replied when she didn’t. 

“ _Madre de dios_ ,” Reyes muttered as he dug the paracetamol he’d purchased as an afterthought out of the shopping bag. How long would she have just stayed in bed, overheating and suffering through this whatever-it-was, if he hadn’t stopped by? 

He found a glass in the second cupboard he opened, filling it with tap water. Approaching the bed, he peeled the covers back. Ryder made an irritated noise and curled more tightly into the fetal position. “Cold,” she snapped, pushing at him weakly and reaching for the duvet. 

“Unfortunately, you’re about to be much colder,” Reyes warned sternly as he held out two tablets of paracetamol and the water. “Take this,” he ordered, meeting her glare with a flatly unimpressed look until she reluctantly sat up. When she’d swallowed the pills and finished the water, he scooped her up, looking around for the bathroom. The studio flat was small enough that it was easy to find, and he stepped to the door, feeling heat pour off of her even over the warmth of the room.

“Where’s the bathtub?” he asked stupidly. 

“Don’t have one. Shower box,” she muttered, curling into his chest as if seeking to warm herself with his body heat. _Fuck’s sake_ , he thought with exasperation. The bathroom was so small that it would only accommodate two if one was either on the toilet or in the shower, so he set her down and started stripping her at the doorway. “Hey!” she barked, falling into a coughing fit. 

“You’re taking a cold shower,” he told her over the hacks. 

“No! I’m already c-cold,” she whimpered, eyes tearing as she hunched in on herself. It was pitiable, but it was either this or a doctor. 

“Lazuli,” he said firmly, more than a hint of Anubis in his tone. She glared at him from behind her pulled-up knees. He never used her given name, partially out of habit and partially because she didn't like it, but she knew he was being serious if he did. “You’re burning up and have been for more than a day. We can go to the hospital and see what’s wrong, or you can let me take care of you and see if the fever comes down on its own. Your choice,” he told her in a voice that brooked no argument.

He went to turn the thermostat down while she scowled, pleased to find her reluctantly dragging the cap off when he turned back around. Despite his threats of a cold shower, he held his hand under the spray until he was satisfied it would stay lukewarm. Icy water would only make her shiver harder, which would warm her - exactly what he didn’t want. 

Looking utterly miserable, Ryder let him peel the rest of her layers off, shaking even harder as her skin was bared, teeth clattering as though they’d come out of her head. Reyes unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way and shrugged out of it, tossing it over the chair in front of her computer desk. His socks followed. 

“ _Venga, amor_ ,” he said quietly, lifting her and setting her gently in the shower. She curled in on herself again, mewling pitifully under the splashing droplets. The sound made him slide even closer to Anubis, finding it easier to offer the care she needed if he wasn’t feeling like a bastard for it. 

Cracking the window just enough to let steam out and a hint of fresh air in, he knelt next to the shower. After a minute he noticed her normally straight hair starting to curl into tight ringlets and tugged a lock of it to distract her. “You have curly hair?” he asked, curious despite the seriousness of the situation. 

“Y-yeah,” she stammered, still shivering. Reyes brushed a hand over her forehead. _Still too warm_. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured, pulling one of the longer strands spiraling over her face out to its full length and watching it bounce back. 

“It’s a p-p-pain. And it’d g-get all t-tangled when my h-hot Chilean b-boyfriend fucks me if it was c-c-curly. So I s-straighten it,” she stammered between clenched teeth. _Getting there_ , Reyes thought. She was more lucid already, the paracetamol and tepid shower working together to bring her temperature down. 

“SAM, Ryder’s body temp?” he called into the adjacent room. Ryder may have implanted herself with a microchip as a failsafe against his darker nature, but it would help him monitor her now. 

“Thirty-nine point seven,” the AI reported.

Reyes massaged the back of her neck, remembering the aches that came with a severe fever. “A little longer, then you can get back into bed and I’ll make you some soup,” he promised. She nodded lethargically from where her head was pillowed on her arms, body still tense but shivering less. He continued rubbing his fingers along her neck, the silence hanging between them broken only as SAM announced further decreases in her temperature every half degree. 

At thirty-eight degrees, he stood and switched the water off. She still had a fever, but not a dangerous one and he didn't want her laying on hard, wet plastic for too long. Ryder pushed herself up with wobbly arms, and he let her stand unaided whilst he held the towel that had been hanging on a cheap plastic hook stuck to the door. She had a good deal of pride and his insistent attentions had probably put a dent in it, however much she’d needed them. 

Once she was dry, he followed her back to bed and went to poke around in her dresser after glancing back with eyebrows raised for permission. She nodded, sitting on the bed with her knees pulled up and arms wrapped around them, watching him with tired, dull eyes. He fished out a light pair of pyjama pants and a thin, long-sleeved shirt, tossing them to her on the bed before stepping to the small kitchen to start on the soup. 

He was poking around in cabinets, looking for a big enough pot, when he felt her presence immediately behind him. “Bed,” he ordered sharply, not bothering to look up. 

“Pots are in that one,” she said hoarsely, stifling a cough. He opened the cupboard she’d indicated, drawing out the biggest pot and setting it on the stove before turning to her. “Bed,” he commanded again, more sternly. “Or do I have to tie you to it?” 

The ghost of a flirtatious smile flickered on her lips, and they both froze as the impulse to kiss flared and dampened. Smiling wryly, she padded back to the bed and reached to pull the heavy duvet over herself. “No. That one,” he directed, pointing with a long bamboo spoon at the lighter blanket she’d been wrapped in when she answered the door. 

Scowling, she stuck her tongue out at him but obeyed, flopping onto her side and curling up to watch him with heavy-lidded eyes. When he was satisfied she would stay where she was, Reyes turned back to the counter and pulled out a cutting board, finding an adequate knife and laying out an onion, carrots, celery, and mushrooms.

Cooking had always soothed Reyes, the precise nature of preparing and combining ingredients appealing to his sense of order and need for control. Giving Ryder commands when she was ill was not the same as when she was hale and fuckable, and the evening had unsettled him. The building she was living in and the severity of her fever had kicked his natural desire to protect her into overdrive. He’d known he loved her but hadn’t been prepared for the intensity of feeling all of this aroused in him. 

Chopped vegetables went into the pot, sauteeing in olive oil while he thought. When they were nicely softened, he filled the pot with water, added a bit of thick stock, and set a small strainer inside. Eyeing the size of it, he hacked the chicken in half and chucked that in, wanting the vitamins and minerals from the skin, bones, and cartilage to seep into it without having to pick inedibles out of boiling soup when it was done. It wasn’t how he usually did things, but it would be faster this way. 

_She can eat the other half later_ , he thought, replacing the chicken in the strangely empty fridge. They went out to dinner a lot, but even so, didn’t most people keep eggs or milk or bread? A lone apple sat next to a bottle of sparkling water and assorted condiments. It was like everything physical was an afterthought to her. _Probably why she gets so lost in sex_ , he mused with a smirk. 

“What’s funny?” she croaked suspiciously. 

“Nothing, _amor_. Get some rest. It’ll be a while before this is ready.”

“Wanna watch a movie?” 

Reyes glanced around pointedly. There was no TV in the small studio. 

“On the monitors,” Ryder explained hoarsely, sitting up slowly and turning one of the screens on her desk so that they could recline on the bed to watch it. “There’s fresh linen on top of the wardrobe if you don’t want a plague pillow,” she offered with a wan smile. 

_Might as well_ , he decided, reaching for a clean pillowcase while she shucked one of her pillows and held it out to him between two fingers. He was already resigned to catching whatever she had, but it was sweet that she was trying to lessen the odds. 

They started some ridiculously mindless action flick that he poked holes in based on his real-life experience while she coughed throaty little laughs. She fell asleep halfway through, leaning against the pillow she’d insisted on propping between them, exhausted and still a little feverish. Reyes kissed the top of her curly blue head, unable to help himself. _She should just come live with me_. 

It was a good thing she was asleep because he froze in pure panic when he reviewed the thought. He had never, _never_ , wanted to share his home with someone else. It was his lair, his safe place, his haven, and now he was considering asking Ryder to _live with him_. He’d barely known her six months. What the hell was wrong with him?

Discomfited, he eased his shoulder from under her and went to finish the soup. It would have been better if it could boil longer, but with the stock he’d added he could cheat a little. The strainer he fished out with a pair of forks, setting it on a plate alongside the pot so he could pick pieces of meat from the bones and throw them back in. A measure of quick-cook noodles and some herbs and seasoning went in as well, and the juices from the plate before he threw the chicken bones and skin in the nearly-full rubbish bin. _That needs to go out_. He made a mental note to take it with him when he left. 

Ten minutes later, he was ladling a bowl full. _There’s no dining table_ , he realized, setting it down. She probably ate in front of her monitors while coding, if she ate here at all. 

“Ryder,” he murmured as he sat on the edge of the bed, hating to wake her but wanting to be sure she had some food in her before he left. She stirred, frowned, and turned away. “ _Amor_ ,” he said a little louder, stroking her arm. 

“Mmmph,” she grumbled crossly. 

He grinned, finding her inexplicably adorable. “Are you hungry?” 

Her answering mumble was more positive, and she rubbed at one eye with the back of her hand. “Food?” she asked hopefully. Her stomach made an audible rumble as she sat up, and Reyes went to fetch the bowl and a spoon. Ryder reached eagerly for them, blowing on the broth once before shoving a steaming spoonful into her mouth. 

“Hot,” she hissed, swallowing and coughing, and Reyes rolled his eyes with a snort. It had just come off the stove, of course it was hot. “Good,” she purred huskily with a small smile on the second, cooler mouthful. “Really good, even if my tastebuds are fucked. You made this? From scratch?” 

“Well I’m not going to serve you swill from a can,” he teased. “Not enough nutrients. It’d take you forever to recover, and you’re kind of a pain in the ass like this.” Ryder smirked, not disagreeing as she shoveled noodles and chicken into her mouth. 

Reyes went back to the kitchen to box up the rest of the soup in several of the reusable takeaway containers he’d found. “There’s enough here for a few more meals, plus half a chicken,” he said over his shoulder. She nodded, not stopping in her rapid-fire soup slurping, and he left enough in the pot for a second serving. 

He’d just finished putting everything in the fridge when the sound of the spoon scraping the bowl sent him back to collect and refill it. “Thanks,” she said gratefully when he handed it back, taking a moment to give him _that look_ , the one that had first made him keep secrets from her and then made him fall in love with her. 

“Always,” he replied, feeling a sappy half-smile curl his lip. He cleaned up, mind awhirl as he tried to decide whether to ask her to move in with him. _Not yet_ , he decided as he put the last dish on the drying rack and neatly folded the towel. She was as independent as he, if not moreso, and he wanted her to focus her energy on getting better. 

Gathering his shirt and socks, he redressed quickly. “I’m heading out now,” he told her as he stomped into his shoes, heart twisting at her sad look. “You need to rest,” he admonished her, going for stern to cover the fact that he wanted to stay with her. Ryder nodded, drinking the rest of her soup straight from the bowl and setting it on the desk with her monitors. 

With a last kiss on the crown of her head, Reyes forced himself to gather his coat and grab the rubbish. “Stay in bed. Have SAM contact me if your fever spikes again. In fact...SAM?” 

“Yes, Mr Vidal?” the AI answered politely.

“Call me if Ryder’s temperature goes back up, okay?” 

“Hey! You can’t order my AI!” Ryder protested, falling into a coughing fit.

Reyes arched an eyebrow. “I can if you refuse to take care of yourself properly. You were making it worse with all that heat.” 

Ryder scowled, then flopped back on the pillows. “Fine. SAM, contact Reyes if I get worse again, okay?” 

“Yes, Pathfinder.” 

The annoyed look melted from Ryder’s features suddenly. “Thanks for the soup. And the...everything else,” she said. Nodding, Reyes said, "Lay down. Get some rest. Drink lots of water," and saw himself out. 

He had a lot to think about on the drive home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A partner who cooks, cleans, takes the rubbish out, and cares for you when you're ill? Maybe a bit of wishful thinking here...
> 
> This one ran away with me quite a lot, which is usually what happens when Reyes has to feel things. Hope you liked it!


	3. Business Lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryder loses a bet and Reyes takes a forfeit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gift for Ilyasviel, who provided the prompt: "Public teasing with a remote control little vibrator...maybe during a formal lunch or dinner with coworkers?"
> 
> Warnings for smut.

Ryder had _finally_ lost a bet.

Reyes had always been lucky or knowledgeable enough to win any bet set to him - until he met her. The woman had been on an unbroken streak of wins on a variety of topics and events for over a month now, and each victory made her cockier. Usually, the forfeits were monetary, but for the last one she'd asked to tie _him_ up for once. He'd agreed for the novelty of it, although he vastly preferred to be the one doing the tying.

Apparently, she'd absorbed the lessons of what he usually did to her, working him into a fine fury of sexual frustration that had her cackling with sadistic glee, tears running down her face at the stream of Spanish invective she’d inspired him to. He hadn't thought she had it in her, but his _pajarillo_ had always been full of surprises. 

Afterward, she’d confessed preferring to be the recipient rather than the instigator, which suited him just fine. He’d been tempted to carry out his revenge immediately, and Ryder had expected it from the cautious way she watched him when she set him free, but he’d only kissed her forehead and gone back to work once she’d massaged the knots out of his shoulders. Startlement had turned to speculative suspicion in her bright turquoise eyes and she’d watched him carefully in the week since, but hitmen didn’t last long if they weren’t patient. He could wait as long as he had to. 

Leaving her in speculation was half of his plan. The other half was the remote-controlled vibrating egg that had arrived that day. He’d thrown down the bet the same evening, a completely random challenge as to how many men would enter the restaurant they were dining in over the next ten minutes. Reyes had won, and the complete blankness of Ryder’s face said that she knew payback for tying him up was forthcoming. He’d smiled with all the enigmatic promise of the Sphinx and she’d shuddered, taking a healthy swallow of whiskey. Her eyes never left his, and he saw her pupils dilate. 

Now they were back at his flat in Regent’s Park and he dangled the egg by its finger loop, holding the remote in the other hand. Ryder swallowed, glancing from him to the small device and back. “That’s not all there is to it, is there,” she said flatly. Stepping closer and tipping her chin up, he claimed a kiss before replying. “Your forfeit, should you choose to accept, is to wear it during tomorrow’s lunch.”

She froze, face flushing. Tomorrow was Thursday, meaning she was due in the office at Collective, and tomorrow’s lunch was to discuss the progress of his acquisition of Kelly Group with Keema, Aquila, and Crux - the latter two not knowing they were dating, and Keema gradually warming to it as Reyes demonstrated himself capable of settling into a committed relationship. 

Reyes’ dare wasn’t a public display of affection, which Ryder hated, but it would be a taboo little challenge. She rarely refused one, and he’d long suspected that she subconsciously got off on doing things she wasn’t supposed to do - like allow her boyfriend to secretly masturbate her remotely during a business lunch. 

Biting her lip, she leaned into him, hiding her face against his chest. “Do I get a practice round?” she asked. Reyes didn’t miss the note of anticipation despite her voice being muffled by his shirt. “Ten minutes, right now,” he offered, feeling generous and wanting to try out the new toy. She nodded, nipping him sharply through his shirt before stepping back and holding her hand out for the egg. He made a noise of negation. “Bedroom,” he purred. 

Ryder stripped on the way there, leaving a trail of clothes up the stairs behind her in a not-so-subtle attempt to irritate him in revenge for the forfeit. She knew he kept his place tidy, and that her decidedly more chaotic habits occasionally grated on his nerves. Tonight, he let it go, collecting the items and dropping the mess into a pile by the bedroom door as she climbed onto the king-size bed. He followed, setting the egg and remote on the bed alongside her and crowding her back against the mound of pillows against the headboard, bracketing her with his arms. 

Her chest rose and fell faster than usual, the pulse in her neck fluttering when he kissed her there to taste her skin. New things excited her, as did dominance from him, and she whimpered his name as he rolled a firm, brown nipple between his fingers. Reyes slapped her reaching hands away from his jeans; he was hard, but he was in the mood for something else first. She groaned and arched under the hand on her breast.

Slowly, he kissed down her body, alternating with nips to make her gasp. By the time he lowered his lips to the swollen nub at the apex of her thighs Ryder was wet and panting. Her hips bucked upwards as he started swirling his tongue around her clit, maintaining a steady pace for a few minutes before adding a single finger, stroking her engorged labia to make her shudder before parting her folds. 

Her cries of pleasure rose higher, and then higher still as he crooked the finger inside her to stroke her g-spot. Fingers tightened painfully in his hair as she approached orgasm and Reyes sped the pace of both finger and tongue to tip her over the edge. 

Ryder moaned and shuddered as her intimate parts clenched around his finger and against his mouth. When she collapsed back, he reached for the egg and used her own juices to lubricate it. “Ready?” he asked. She gasped an affirmative and he carefully slipped the toy inside her, checking that she was comfortable. 

“Stay there and relax,” he said as he stood. She frowned. “Where are you going?”

Waving the remote, Reyes grinned. “To test the range.” Ryder blinked, snorted a laugh, and got herself comfortable, stretching against the black sheets. “Have I mentioned how much I love silk?” she moaned as he strode out. 

“Yes,” he called back. Watching her writhe against the sheets for the pleasure of the smoothness against her skin would have told him even if she hadn’t. 

He settled on the couch downstairs, wondering if he was too far as he tapped the button to activate the remote and selected the lowest setting.

Ryder’s yelp suggested not.

Chuckling to himself, Reyes spent the next ten minutes cycling at random through the settings. The highest one earned him a shouted, “God _damn_ you, Reyes Vidal!” that only made him laugh harder. When the time was up, he headed back upstairs to find Ryder kneeling and shaking on the bed. Flushed cheeks, disheveled hair, parted lips, and an expression that said she’d as happily kill him as fuck him made her the picture of sexual frustration. 

He couldn’t help but laugh again, leaning in for a kiss and grunting when she bit his lower lip. “You’ll have to do better than that tomorrow, _amor_ , or it’s going to be a very interesting lunch,” he teased.

“Fuck you,” she snarled, tugging out the egg and throwing it at the pillows. Reyes started undoing the buttons on his shirt. “That can be arranged,” he promised, feeling Anubis stir at the hard set of her face as he set the garment neatly over a chair. His jeans followed, then his pants, until he stood naked before her, his erect cock taunting her. 

Ryder launched herself at him, wrapping her thighs around his hips. The pain of her nails dragging along his back when he forced her straight back down beneath him brought Anubis roaring out fully. There was no gentleness from either of them in that fuck; Ryder gave as good as she got, gouging reddened furrows in his back and shoulders as he bit her chest.

When both had found their satisfaction, Reyes collapsed onto his back with a wince for the scratches, holding Ryder close and kissing the top of her head when she pushed under his arm to sprawl half across his chest and thighs. She was asleep in minutes, the intense sex having its usual soporific effect on her. Reyes lay awake listening to the soothing sound of her breathing and planning the next day.

Tomorrow was going to be fun.

***

Lunch was at an upscale Argentinian steakhouse down the road from Collective’s office. Ryder had inserted the vibrating egg before leaving and Reyes couldn’t help his grin as they strolled over together, hands in his trouser pockets. If she didn’t relax, Ryder was going to betray that something was amiss. Hopefully, the other three directors would simply think her uncomfortable in the business casual attire she’d donned rather than her usual jeans or leathers in deference to the lunch location. 

He couldn’t touch her, not out in the street so close to the office, but he did mutter, “Ready to play?” as they approached the restaurant. Taking a deep breath, she nodded sharply. He held the door for her, then followed her in.

Keema was already waiting, impeccably dressed in a champagne-coloured sleeveless dress with a pencil skirt. She had formally taken over the running of Kelly Group and he hadn’t seen her in at least a month. 

The two women leaned in for cheek kisses, smiling warmly, and Reyes was pleased that they genuinely seemed to like each other. Both were important to him, and choosing between them was not an option. 

“Keema, you’re looking well,” he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. She grinned, black eyes flashing as she toyed with one of the long goddess braids hanging over her left shoulder. “As are you,” she purred in her melodious voice. “Who’d have thought that commitment would suit you so well?” Ryder grinned and looked aside while Reyes laughed. “You have no idea - and speaking of which, neither do Crux and Aquila, so…”

“Keep mum,” Keema finished, rolling her eyes. “Always with the secrets, Rey.” The two women exchanged exasperated glances while he offered his most charming smile. “If I was as clever as you two, I wouldn’t need such an air of mystery,” he quipped. They rolled their eyes, calling him flatterer and shady bastard.

Reyes was saved from having to make a response by the entrance of Crux and Aquila. Ryder sobered immediately, still not entirely comfortable with Aquila. Reyes couldn’t blame her; the man had helped him kill Sloane and Zia and had not been pleased when he’d let Ryder leave. For his part, Aquila studiously ignored Ryder, still not quite trusting her for following Reyes and breaking into his office but obeying his boss’ wishes to let the matter drop. 

As soon as the full party had arrived, a hostess appeared and welcomed them to follow her. Reyes waved everyone ahead of him, catching his girlfriend’s attention as the other three moved to follow. “Let the games begin,” he murmured, triggering the remote’s lowest setting. Ryder jumped, eyes flying wide and jaw clenching as she swallowed a cry. With a glare, she turned to follow the rest of the group. 

Reyes strolled leisurely behind, pretending to admire the padded leather and cowhide walls as he keyed the remote again. Ryder’s hiss of indrawn breath made Crux look back curiously for a moment before continuing. 

Their table was in the wine room, a long, mirrored space whose walls were lined with rows of bottles to the ceiling. Charcoal grey carpet muffled sound, and well-padded suede chairs in the same shade of grey were pulled up to a blackwood table. Delicate crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, and Reyes had to remind himself not to look too long at the interesting effect they had on Ryder’s bright blue hair lest he give away the secret of his interest in her. 

Ryder shifted in her chair when he flicked the remote again, taking his hand out of his pocket to leave it running on the lowest setting. It was rude to keep one’s hands under the table for the whole meal, after all. She swallowed as he folded his arms and leaned on the table, and he forgot himself long enough to give her a smouldering look. 

Aquila and Crux missed it, pointing at things on the menu at the end of the table, but Keema, seated across from him and next to Ryder, caught it. Her gaze darted to Ryder’s suddenly stiff posture and clenched jaw, then back to him. Reyes looked innocently at her when Keema narrowed her eyes, which only cemented his guilt in her mind if the exaggerated eye roll embellished by fluttering lashes was any indication. 

Fortunately for Ryder, there wasn’t much for her to say at this meeting. She was there as a partner in the company and to listen for information she might need later, but not really expected to contribute to the acquisition itself. She excused herself once they’d ordered, heading for the toilets, and Reyes casually leaned back to click the remote to the highest setting as he asked Keema for updates on what was happening at Kelly Group. 

When Ryder returned a few minutes later, she was glaring daggers at him from across the room. He turned the device completely off, raising his eyebrows at her when she stumbled in surprise. “Everything alright, Ryder?” he asked neutrally. 

She smiled, cool and professional. “Just peachy.” When she reached for her glass of red wine, her jacket sleeve slipped back to reveal a fresh imprint of teeth on her right wrist.

Reyes had to take a sip of his own wine to mask his smile. She’d orgasmed in the toilet, biting her wrist to choke back a scream. He knew because he’d seen her do it when he’d fucked her in his office. This forfeit was even more satisfying than he’d thought it would be, knowing that he’d made her cum without laying a finger on her, whilst their colleagues talked business. 

He let her get through her appetizer of shrimp ceviche before getting her started again. His hand disappearing under the table gave her warning, and she managed not to jump this time. Keema looked between them again, knowing that something was going on but not quite what. She was a bit of a prude, and therefore unlikely to have come across remote-controlled vibrators, but she was clever enough to know that he was up to something. 

Crux and Aquila stepped outside for a quick smoke before the main course arrived. “Whatever you’re doing, I’m fairly certain it’s a disgrace,” Keema hissed. Reyes smiled lazily, flicking the remote up to the highest setting in his pocket. Ryder twitched, eyes widening, and Keema leaned back, scoffing in disgust. “I swear to God, Reyes, just when I think you’ve finally grown up…” 

She trailed off as the other two returned, and Reyes took the vibrator back down to its lowest setting. Their mains arrived, and the conversation picked back up. 

For all his games, it was actually a highly productive lunch. Keema asked especially pointed questions of both himself and Ryder, which had the effect of diverting Ryder’s attention from her pussy to her professional passions. _Don’t think about her pussy right now_ , Reyes warned himself, even as his mind supplied the idea that it was probably soaking wet and aching for him, and his cock responded. 

Realizing with dismay that his plan had backfired, Reyes switched the vibrator off before he reached a point where he’d be unable to stand from the table. Ryder’s words caught in surprise for a moment before she continued what she was saying; to her credit, she recovered well with even Aquila nodded thoughtfully at her analysis of the gaps in their cybersecurity systems.

They all passed on dessert, opting to get back to the office to finish the workday. Ryder excused herself to the toilets one last time as they made their exit, and Reyes couldn’t help flicking the remote one last time. Aquila and Crux had gone ahead for another smoke on their way back to the office, but Keema lingered.

“What the fuck was that all about?” she demanded. 

Reyes grinned. “She lost a bet.”

“And?”

Shaking his head, Reyes replied, “You don’t want to know.” 

With another expressive eye roll, Keema subsided for a minute before asking, “Are you happy with her?”

Reyes glanced at her sideways, still angled toward the toilets. Her expression was serious, dark eyes piercing. “Yes,” he answered soberly, giving her question the weight it deserved. “We...fit...together. She helps with... _him_.” He didn’t need to explain; Keema had met him in his past life and knew better than anyone how much he’d struggled to move on from it. She nodded thoughtfully.

Ryder emerged from the restroom, walking a bit more normally. She must have removed the egg. Pushing the button to power off the remote, Reyes couldn’t help but smirk at the look on her face. “She’s also not afraid to take revenge on me.” Keema’s eyebrows rose. “ _Pajarillo_ ,” Reyes said as Ryder approached, “Tell Keema about the time you broke into my office.” 

Keema’s dark skin turned ashen. She knew him well enough to have an idea of how well that must have gone over. “She did what?”

It was probably the one thing that would have distracted Ryder at that point, and she gleefully spun the tale as they walked back to the office with Keema.

“You are both mad,” Keema declared at the end of it - or almost the end, as Ryder had tactfully left off the part where he’d fucked her on his desk and promised to punish her. 

Reyes glanced down at Ryder to see her looking up at him with a mixture of amusement, love, and a banked desire for vengeance. 

“Maybe a little,” they admitted together, laughing. Keema just stared at them, then turned and flagged a passing taxi. 

After they made their goodbyes and turned to walk back inside, Ryder said, “ _You_ are a _bastard_.”

Reyes couldn’t help himself. “But a handsome one, right?” Ryder muttered darkly under her breath about all the things he had coming to them when they got home that night. 

He laughed, looking forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to recall Reyes has some dialogue about being a gambler - either way, I headcanon that he enjoys a wager. They're both competitive and Laz usually can't back down from a challenge, so bets between them seemed a good way to bring this prompt to fruition. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Anubis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewind to five years before Renegades. A series of signs signal that it's time for Reyes to leash Anubis and find another line of work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Reyes Vidal Weekly Prompt #9, Valley of the Kings: Write/draw something that alludes to Reyes’ callsign (Anubis).
> 
> TW: Implied violence and torture. Dark!Reyes struggling with his demons.

_A ray of sun slanted through the window of the warehouse where Reyes had been instructed to report. He’d just resigned his commission with the Chilean Navy last week and had been approached by the friend of a friend, asking if he wanted work. Work that would match the skills he’d gained, but without the stifling command structure and restrictive rules that strangled him. Work that would take him out of Chile, let him see some of the world._

_That sounded perfect to Reyes; it would mean his time in basic training hadn’t been wasted. As much as he’d wanted to be a pilot, he’d discovered he very much didn’t want to spend his life taking orders from other people._

_So here he was. The friend of a friend hadn’t said what the work would be, only that he should be at this place on this day at this time. He waited impatiently, arms crossed, scuffing the dusty floor with a boot._

_Footsteps behind him. “Vidal, is it?” a voice asked in Argentine-accented Spanish from behind him. Reyes turned, finding a short, squat man with startlingly blue eyes. He nodded, saying nothing. “I’m told you resigned from the Navy, but passed basic?” Reyes nodded again, and the man nodded to the side with his head, indicating that Reyes should follow._

_“I’m in shipping. We need good men to protect a cargo headed for the UK. Interested?”_

_“What kind of cargo?” Reyes asked neutrally._

_The short man looked up at him sharply. “The kind that you’d be wiser not to ask questions about.” After a moment, Reyes nodded acceptance. Ignorance would keep him safe, he hoped, and the legal job he’d lined up before resigning had fallen through. He was nearly out of money and all of his efforts to find legitimate work had failed. Times were tough in Valparaíso, the city having been hit with wave after wave of climate change-driven landslides, floods, and wildfires in the last five years. The rest of Chile wasn't much better, and getting out might be his only option - especially if he wanted to_ be _someone._

_After having Reyes shoot at a few man-shaped targets, the mysterious contact extended his hand. “Welcome aboard, Vidal.” He’d named what sounded like an astronomical sum to Reyes as his wages for getting the shipment safely to London, paying a quarter now and the remainder on arrival. Reyes shook the offered hand and promised to be in Buenos Aires by the end of the week. He could afford the flight to Argentina with the up-front cash and was keen to put his hometown behind him after twenty years of going nowhere._

Shaking off the memory, Reyes peered down the barrel of his disassembled pistol to check that it was properly clean before setting it aside and taking up the frame. It had been five years since that memory, a little less since he’d arrived in London. He’d built a lucrative career for himself as a contract killer under the alias “Anubis” with the connections he'd made on the long voyage across the Atlantic, fighting off pirates and evading the navies of the European Union once they drew closer to the British coast. 

It wasn’t the life he’d imagined he’d be leading, but he’d been offered an opportunity and taken it. Then another, and another, carefully maintaining the anonymity of his true identity and acting as an information broker between jobs. He worked with a couple of handlers on the dark web, who sought out and managed his hits for a cut of the fee, and he had only three rules: payment up front, no innocents, and no children. 

Even a hitman could have limits.

Today made him wish he’d never accepted that first opportunity to leave Valparaíso, though. There'd been an accident, bad intel. Someone died who shouldn't have. His client was, if anything, even happier to have received two kills for the price of one, but Reyes’ stomach was clenched in a sick disgust that he couldn't remember feeling since the early days.

He was better than that - or at least Anubis was, the cold, calculating, unfeeling part of his mind that he retreated behind to get the job done.

The problem, if he was honest with himself, was that Anubis was starting to like the blood too much. The fear of his prey, the rush of power that came from tracking them down and besting them. It was no longer completely impersonal and detached. Reyes would have found a way to extricate himself from the situation without killing the extra target. Anubis…Anubis didn't care. They were in the way. They had to go.

To make matters worse, his client had wanted information from the mark. That had required a bit of torture before the end. The extra money it brought was welcome, but Anubis had become a little too comfortable with causing pain, and Reyes’ dreams were stained red and rang with screams.

He hated it.

Once he'd finished cleaning and reassembling his gun, he set it aside and scrubbed his hands over his face. He needed to get out of here, stop thinking about this for a while. Stop thinking about _anything_ for a while. Tartarus, he'd go to Tartarus. Maybe Kian would blow him, and either way, there was always plenty of whiskey there.

He stepped into the bathroom for a piss before leaving and froze in terror at the face looking back at him in the mirror. Ragged black streaks clawed their way across his visage and for a few seconds he had the irrational panic that the real Anubis, the God of the Dead himself, had marked him for judgment.

Then he realised his hands were filthy with gunpowder residue and oil, and remembered rubbing them over his face. He wasn't marked for judgment, he was just dirty.

Gripping the edge of the sink, Reyes hung his head and trembled, taking deep breaths to swallow past his rising gorge. He couldn't keep doing this. He needed to get out. 

And do what?

Something legitimate. But he'd gotten so used to being his own boss, the power and control it gave him, that he couldn't go back to being just another grunt. He wanted to _be_ someone. 

Now wasn't the time to figure it out though, with his stomach raging and his head spinning. He’d sort it later. Cleaning up quickly, he took his piss and headed out.

***

Tartarus was lively, as usual. Full of people who, like him, were trying to forget something. Drowning themselves in drink, blinding themselves with lithe dancers and neon lights, deafening themselves with the throbbing bass of last decade’s hits. It was a true dive of a bar, but Kian, the assistant manager, was honest to a fault, snarkily funny, cute, and willing to put up with his moods. Not to mention willing to give him the occasional blowjob. 

He was beginning to suspect the Irishman wanted something more, but Reyes wasn't interested in commitment. Fuckbuddies, maybe, but with both men and women finding him attractive, Reyes never wanted for no-strings sex.

As he took a seat in the darkest corner at the end of the bar, Kian made a beeline for him. “There's a girl looking for information. Shall I bring her to you?” Reyes nodded and the bartender poured him a double whiskey, adding another finger after a glance at his face. “Looking a bit rough, mate,” he observed flatly. 

“Tends to happen when you kill people for a living,” Reyes muttered without meaning to, then froze. Kian's face had gone perfectly blank, but his eyes had become calculating. “I knew you did more than info brokering,” was all he said before turning to wave over a tall, elegantly beautiful young woman with long black braids sitting at the other end of the bar, sipping a glass of what looked like tonic.

“I don't need a hooker,” Reyes said rudely, glaring at Kian, furious with himself for his slip. 

The barman opened his mouth to retort, but the woman got there first as she slid onto the stool next to him. “Then it's a good thing I'm not one, you sorry shit.” Turning to Kian, she arched a dark eyebrow and asked, “This is the guy?”

Grinning sardonically, Kian replied, “This is The Mouth. You wanna know something, he can probably find the answer.” With a sly purse of his lips, he added, “And maybe do something about it.”

Reyes promised retribution with his eyes before turning back to the young woman. “My apologies, miss…?”

“Dorghun,” she completed after a moment’s evaluating stare. “Keema Dorghun.”

Nodding, Reyes avoided introducing himself as he charmed the story out of her. A family, parents and younger brother, murdered by crooked cops on a botched raid at the wrong address, now trying to cover up their own crime. She was visiting from out of town and if she hadn't been out late, taking care of a drunk friend at the club, she would have been there to die with them. Keema shook with rage at the telling, but her dark eyes stayed dry. _Like me, then. Get the job done, then worry about what comes after_. He could respect that. Better, he already knew who the dirty cops ultimately answered to. 

The price negotiation went swiftly; she was desperate and he was minded to give a discount. “You're looking for Sloane Kelly,” he told her when they were agreed, not bothering to peek into the envelope she'd slid over. 

She blanched. “The security director at the Andromeda Initiative? But…that can't be right. They...they help refugees.” Reyes shrugged. “Some of them do. Others have their own agendas.”

Keema looked lost for a minute, and Reyes supposed she'd imagined the answer would be easier than that. “How much would it cost for you to help me take her down?” she asked quietly.

“More than you have,” he replied curtly, mentally cursing Kian for suggesting it.

“Teach me how, then,” she demanded, looking at him boldly. Reyes blinked, covering his surprise with a healthy swallow of whiskey. “No.”

“Please? I don't know what else to do. I've been sleeping in the Tube because there are always people and cameras and I can't go home. I know they're looking for me.” She laid a hand on his arm, gripping the sleeve of his leather jacket. “I don't beg. But you're the first person who's been able to point me in any direction. Please. I'll give you everything I have left.”

Anubis was howling at the edges not to do this. It was dangerous, and besides, the strong helped themselves. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to get the voice to recede to a dull roar. If anything, the fact that Anubis didn't want it was what drove him to his decision. “Fine,” he snapped, fishing out his wallet and pulling out an access card. “Here.” He scrawled an address on a napkin with a pen from the register over the bar, followed by a string of numbers. “Go here. That's the security code. You'll be safe there. We'll talk later.”

Slowly, Keema pulled the flimsy paper to her, then clutched it like the life raft it was. “Is this your place?” she asked cautiously, probably remembering that he'd thought her a hooker. He sighed. “It's one of them. Not where I'm staying now. And girl…” he trailed off dangerously, dropping his tenuous hold on Anubis to give her the full weight of his threat. “If you betray me…” His toothy smile made it clear what the consequence would be. She swallowed, nodded, and ran. 

“The fuck was that about?” Kian asked curiously when she'd gone. Reyes didn't reply, leaning back against the wall with eyes closed and wrestling with himself to force Anubis back, not to follow her and eliminate the threat. A hand rested on his shoulder and his eyes flashed open as he gripped the wrist and squeezed, grinding the fine bones together. Kian hissed in pain and surprise, forced to release his grip and freezing as their eyes met. 

For long seconds Reyes and Anubis fought for control. Reyes finally won, releasing Kian and downing the rest of his whiskey in a single go. 

“That was scary,” the bartender said lightly as he topped up the glass. Reyes downed that one, too, then shoved the envelope Keema had given him across the bar. “That should cover my tab and your finder's fee. Keep the rest.”

Kian's face darkened. “You don't have to buy me off.” 

“I need to do _something_ ,” Reyes snapped in a harsh whisper. “I can't… Kian, I'm losing myself.” Admitting it aloud made it real and gave him the shakes again. “I don't want to be this person anymore.”

The other man's face softened from its indignant expression. “Then do something else,” he said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Like what?” Reyes demanded with a scowl.

Shrugging, Kian asked what he'd originally come to London for. With a snorted laugh, Reyes replied, “Let's just say shipping.”

“So, start your own shipping business. Or weapons, or something else you know. You've got money, right?” 

He did at that, all safely hidden away and multiplying in offshore accounts. He rarely bothered to check how much was there, knowing that even with rent, handler fees, and new weapons and tech purchases, he spent a bare fraction of what he brought in. Kian might be onto something. There was just one problem.

“I don't know the first thing about running a legitimate business,” he admitted, mildly embarrassed. 

“So find people who do. Maybe that girl you helped knows something; I looked her family up before recommending you and they were successful bankers. Besides, a legitimate business isn't so different from a criminal one. You just have to do something legal and then use the tax loopholes to hide your money instead of keeping it all secret or laundering it. Tell you what, I'll even hold the private room for you upstairs with the extra cash in here. You can work out of there until you're set up properly.” 

Reyes considered the idea of living fully within the law after five successful years of criminal work. “Sounds like a pain.” He could always just stick to information brokering.

“And the hell you're in now isn't?” With those last words, Kian wandered off to serve another patron. 

_He has a point_. Reyes knew that as long as he stayed on the wrong side of the law, he'd need to rely on being Anubis to make a living and keep himself safe. Today had proven he couldn't go on like that, not if he wanted to do better for himself and achieve his dream of being someone.

Not if he wanted to stay Reyes Vidal, and not become stuck in his alter-ego.

Pulling out his phone, he started researching how to start a business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He was kind of a bad dude for a while...hope that didn't go too dark for y'all.


	5. Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reyes receives an invitation to a benefits gala from someone he despises. Ryder convinces him to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for polarelle on Tumblr: "Jealous at all?"  
> My response was basically, Ryder doesn't have time for it and Reyes is protective rather than outright jealous. Soooo here's protective Reyes/Anubis. 
> 
> Also smut.

Reyes threw himself on the leather sofa with a huff of annoyance and regarded the invitation that had arrived in the day’s office post, printed on heavy black cardstock with gold ink. Knowing the asshole who’d sent it, it was probably real gold. That, combined with the use of actual paper, made it an extravagance - fitting for a benefits gala where dinner was served at ten thousand pounds a plate. 

Everything about it grated on Reyes except the cause: a fundraiser to raise money for a number of London-based charities aiding the swelling population of climate refugees. He knew Ryder would support it, and he could more than afford it. It was just the matter of dealing with the organizer and host, one William Spender. 

Reyes still bristled at the thought of their last meeting four years ago, when Reyes was just getting his feet under him with the founding of Collective. Spender, then better-connected politically, had snatched a lucrative contract from Reyes’ grasp in the final round, setting him back at least six months. Not only that; the other man had gloated for a year afterward. 

It wasn’t that Reyes held a grudge, exactly, but his competitive nature itched for revenge.

He tapped the card against the fingertips of one hand, absently debating the wisdom of accepting. The invitation had been addressed to “a representative of Collective Industries and their plus-one, in recognition of generous contributions to the refugee population of Britain”, likely a reference to Collective’s significant investment in Ryder’s newest centre, Ditaeon. Attending might imply that he was Collective’s CEO - a fact still kept secret - but perhaps he could spin it. 

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, strongly considering sending Keema. She was better at the politics, the camera loved her, and he didn’t care if someone mistook her for the CEO. He didn’t want the spotlight, only results. 

With a chime and the snick of a lock disengaging, the front door swung open. Ryder, bopping along with something on her earbuds, bounced into the flat, tucking away the keycard he’d given her the other week as a compromise to himself between asking her to move in and keeping a bit of space between them. She was singing wordlessly to herself, blue hair flipping back and forth as she really got into part of the song and headbanged furiously. His mood lifted immediately as he watched her. 

Suddenly she froze, eyes opening to land directly on him, and she blushed darkly enough that the colour showed against her tawny skin. The earbuds she plucked out and tucked away, dropping her black leather shoulder bag carelessly to the floor by the door as she closed it. “Hi,” she greeted him sheepishly. “I thought you’d be...working, or something.” 

He grinned in amusement at having caught her completely unguarded. Standing, he dropped the invitation on the table and went to her. “Hi, yourself,” he replied, stealing one of her phrases before cupping her jaw in both hands and kissing her deeply. Her hands rose to clutch the shoulders of his shirt, and she shuddered, panting slightly with parted lips when he broke the kiss. 

Her eyes searched his for a moment before she muttered, “You’re fucking dangerous.” Reyes smirked and freed her so that she could enter the flat proper. Having lost her once, he sometimes craved the little reassurances that she was still drawn to him. 

As she stepped past him the invitation on the table caught her attention, and Ryder made a beeline for it. “What’s this?” she asked, fingering the gold calligraphy as she flopped onto the sofa. Reyes couldn’t help a growl of irritation. “An invitation. And a reminder.” 

She glanced up at him, turquoise gaze gone from lustful to stony. “A reminder?” she asked, a hint of threat in her voice. 

Reyes let himself slip into Anubis, just a little bit. Ryder was intensely protective of those she loved, even the twin brother she could barely tolerate, and she could read him as well as Kian or Keema could, if not better. She’d have heard the residual bitterness, regret, and anger in his statement. 

She wasn’t a killer, but her hacking skills enabled her to destroy her enemies in another, more insidious way. Her tone and the look in her eyes hinted that she was inclined to spend some time as Pathfinder, investigating and ruining the sender, and he found it fucking hot. 

“Of something that happened years ago,” he offered, the sting of it nettling him. Sitting beside her, he rubbed her neck with one hand as she examined the card. 

She ran a thumb over the raised letters and leaned into the massage. “Then maybe we should go and make a statement of our own,” she suggested, a soft menace tinting her words. 

At that, Anubis couldn’t help but pin her beneath him on the couch, drinking in her moan as her mouth opened to welcome his tongue and her thighs spread to accommodate his body. He was glad he hadn’t killed her the day he’d eliminated Sloane and Zia. She was the missing piece of his soul. 

***

Two and a half weeks later, Reyes strode into the courtyard at Somerset House with Ryder on his arm. He was in a tux; she had chosen a stunning backless dress that skimmed the top of her ass with barely enough coverage for decency, balanced by a high neck that clasped tightly around her throat. The hem rose steeply on her left thigh, and the whole ensemble shifted between cobalt and aquamarine depending on how the light hit it. Simple diamond drops sparkled where they dangled from her earlobes. The black-and-silver heels she wore were higher than usual, and the practice she’d put into moving in them showed as she glided gracefully at his side. Keema had insisted on doing her hair and makeup when she’d learned of the event, and Ryder’s already considerable beauty was heightened to the sort of elegantly understated perfection that suggested more money than god. 

Reyes had seen her dressed up before, but not like this. He was blown away, having simply handed her a credit card and insisting she go to Oxford Street or Harrod's rather than going shopping with her. She'd accepted it warily, as if the rectangle of black titanium would bite her, and called her friend Mara for help.

 _Brains and beauty_ , he thought, admiring her lower back’s graceful curve into the round of her ass and the lengthened lines of her figure for possibly the hundredth time since they’d left the flat. And for the hundredth time, he ignored the stirring of his cock, considering his money well spent.

Spender noticed them immediately; or rather, he noticed Reyes, initially dismissing Ryder as arm candy. His smug face lit in amusement, a sneer curling his lips as he approached to welcome them. “Vidal,” he scoffed. “Here from Collective? How...charming. And here I’d thought their sponsorship of the Ditaeon centre was the extent of their capability for generosity. What a pleasant surprise.” 

“I’m sure you’d find Collective full of surprises,” Ryder purred at the overbearing jackass before he could frame a response. Her husky voice pulled Spender’s attention from Reyes for a moment...and then back, as Spender considered her more closely, gaze roving over her appreciatively. Ryder subtly turned, positioning herself to rest both hands on Reyes’ left shoulder and press herself against him whilst lengthening her form and showing a hint of her back at the same time. 

_Throttle him_ , Anubis snarled as Spender’s interest in Ryder intensified. Reyes settled for slipping an arm around her hips. “Lazuli Ryder, this is William Spender, our host.” The introduction was delivered in a voice roughened by dislike for Spender and desire for Ryder, but Spender barely noticed if the way his gaze locked on Ryder was any indication. 

“Charmed, I think,” Ryder replied boredly, throwing Spender's own word back at him. Resting her chin atop her hands on Reyes' left shoulder and flicking her tongue at his earlobe in an uncharacteristic display of public affection, she pouted, “Reyes, love, I thought you said there’d be bubbly at this party?” Spender glared when she graced him with a single dismissive glance, as though surprised to find him still standing there. Grateful for the excuse to move on, Reyes steered her to a table laden with flutes of champagne. 

That exchange set the tone for the evening, and Reyes resigned himself to spending at least part of the night as Anubis after catching the fifth man considering her assets. In a way, she was the perfect distraction, allowing him to glean information from people who would have guarded their tongues better had their eyes not been fixed on his woman. 

He held himself back from growling threats a number of times as looks turned to leers at Ryder's ass or thigh as they passed. She was beautiful. Of course people were going to look. Knowing that her mien of bored flirtation was an act helped, but didn’t make him feel any less protective. Some of the guests were the type to overstep if they got her alone, believing their wealth entitled them to certain privileges that weren’t theirs to take.

At the same time, Ryder herself proved to be a weapon, asking pointed questions with an innocently-tilted head and unusually blank eyes suggesting she was curious fluff rather than an unparalleled hacker, lulling the people they spoke to into a false sense of superiority as they focused on explaining things to her and forgot him. 

Dinner was particularly enlightening as she pretended to be more intoxicated than she was. Reyes had seen the woman drink, and two glasses of champagne were not enough for that level of sparkling gregariousness unless she was acting. More gems of information fell into his lap in three hours than had in the last six months combined. 

Through it all, Spender watched, gaze hot as he looked at Ryder, then at Reyes, then back at her. 

As dinner was cleared and the musicians warmed up for after-dinner dancing, Ryder leaned over and nipped his earlobe as sharp nails dug into his thigh. Fire roared through him and he couldn’t help gripping the back of her neck. “I thought I was the dangerous one,” he murmured, kissing her cheek. “But you, _mi reina_...you are a force to be reckoned with.” She threw back her head and laughed, the rich sound of unfettered amusement drawing the attention of several of her admirers. 

“Nobody sends a message to my man and goes unanswered,” she growled just loud enough for him to hear before subtly biting his lower lip in a savage kiss and excusing herself, swaying toward the toilets.

After a few minutes calming his aching cock, Reyes stood and accepted a tumbler of whiskey from the tray of a passing server, putting his back to a marble pillar. He was still waiting for Ryder when Spender sidled up to him. “Quite the woman,” the slimy _coño_ said, ironically toasting him with a snifter of brandy. “Can’t imagine what she’s doing with a two-bit consultant like you. Or did your boss give her to you?” 

A small snarl tugged at the corner of his mouth at the sexist stupidity, and he surrendered to the mental slide into Anubis. Spender hesitated before pressing on. “A wager? One thousand pounds says you lose her to me. Just like you lost that deal.” 

Protective instincts flared as Anubis considered his rival. “You think it’s appropriate to wager on the desires of another human being?” he asked coldly. “She’s not a toy.” He'd learned the hard way that she wasn't to be toyed _with_ , either, at least not outside of bed.

Spender faltered, then pushed on with bravado. “You’re afraid she’ll leave with me.” 

“No,” Anubis murmured as he caught sight of Ryder returning. “I know exactly where her interests lie.”

Ryder slipped between them, warmth radiating from the bare skin on the small of her back as he rested a hand there. “Everything alright, boys?” she asked. Anubis saw that she’d read the situation and had an idea of what was going on, while Spender clearly saw a nice ass and perky tits in a revealing dress and heard nothing else.

“Miss Ryder, would you do me the honour of this dance?” Spender asked superciliously, half bowing and extending a hand. 

Placing her back to his front, Ryder tilted her head back to look up at him. “Weren’t _you_ going to offer me the first dance?” 

“Of course,” he acceded, finishing his drink and unable to help smirking at Spender over her head as he led Ryder onto the dance floor. It wasn’t that he’d been _jealous_ of all the attention she’d been getting. He simply knew the thoughts behind the glances and outright stares she’d been receiving all night - knew them, because they were in his mind as well.

 _Maybe a little jealous. Or overprotective_ , he admitted to himself as she followed him in the steps of the dance, counting the eyes watching them. Or, more accurately, watching her. She didn’t seem inclined to leave him again, but she was the most precious thing in his life. He’d never forcibly try to keep her with him, but he wouldn’t deny the thrill of pleasure that arose because she chose to be with him with so many here vying for her attention. 

As the song ended, he pulled her close and bent his head to kiss the spot on her neck that never failed to set her off, finding Spender over her shoulder and smirking again as she shivered and melted into him. The other man’s glare was worth every penny of the deal he’d lost years ago, because he knew Ryder’s value far outweighed the paltry thousand pound bet Spender had offered, or even that of the failed bid. She wasn’t a thing to be won, she was an unsurpassed technical asset and the love of his life. Not only that, but she was his. 

_Shit_. 

The love of his life? This wasn’t the place for thoughts like that, surrounded by frenemies and competitors who would use affection for Ryder as a weak point. For that matter, he could only imagine the rumours this evening would spark, and the response they’d receive at Collective. For all anyone there knew, they were simply colleagues.

 _It’ll be fine_ , he told himself. What they did after hours was nobody's business, and the intel they'd gotten out of the evening would justify it if anyone got nosy.

After a few more dances, Ryder pressed herself close and whispered, “Let's get out of here before I drag you into a closet.” Startled, Anubis leaned back and tipped her chin up to look at her. He'd been so busy noting threats and planning exit strategies that he'd failed to notice her flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. 

“What?” she asked in response to his raised brows. “You're hot in a tux and every woman in here is looking at you like you're catnip. Some of the men too, for that matter.” Her wide grin suggested complete unconcern with their interest, and the sparkle in her eyes spoke to a mixture of amusement and mild intoxication.

Snorting a laugh at his own idiocy, Reyes felt Anubis fade. “I can't wait to see what's under that dress,” he purred as he offered her his arm and guided her to the door. Her expression indicated he'd like it.

As they reached the exit, fast, heavy footsteps approached from behind. Reyes turned just in time to interpose himself between Spender's reaching hand and Ryder's arm. “Do. Not. Touch. Her,” Anubis snarled flatly, feeling Ryder go rigid against his back and grip his shoulder.

Nobody said anything as the two men stared at each other, music playing on and party chatter continuing in the background. Spender looked more than a little drunk, and Anubis had been reining himself in for the better part of five long hours. _This could get messy_ , he thought with a thrill of anticipation, wanting to hurt the man for presuming to think he could touch Ryder. Each of them waited for the other to make the next move.

“Let's go,” Ryder murmured, squeezing the hand on his shoulder. He realized then that she hadn't been scared. She'd been anchoring him in case his control snapped. 

Spender sneered, eyeing Ryder lasciviously. “Maybe next time, sugar.”

“How about never?” Ryder spat, tugging at him when he tensed. 

Slowly, Anubis took a step back, allowing Ryder to pull him along with her whilst giving Spender a flat look promising blood the next time they met. Spender’s sullen sneer was his only response. 

“You were ready to kill him, weren't you,” Ryder asked quietly as they walked through the courtyard to the Strand to catch a taxi. Anubis only looked at her steadily, still hearing the blood pounding in his ears, and she nodded as if that was confirmation enough. For her, maybe it was.

“He shouldn't have tried to grab you,” Anubis muttered darkly once they were in a black cab, racing home in the cloudy night along mostly-empty streets. “I should have known he’d try something.” Ryder soothed the tight muscles in his neck with skilled fingers. “You stopped him, though. Thank you,” she murmured, voice husky in his ear.

He turned his head, threading the fingers of one hand through her hair and pressing his lips to hers. As long as she was his, he'd protect her.

After playing the model gentleman all night, Anubis was not in the mood for it when they got home. Fortunately, it seemed Ryder was still as hot for him as she had been at the gala, because she turned and tried to pin him against the door as soon as he’d closed it behind them. These little attempts at dominance amused him because of the differences in their size and strength, but he did appreciate knowing how much he was wanted. 

Spinning them, he trapped her there instead, as roughly as he dared. “Take off that dress,” he ordered in a low growl, kissing the fluttering pulse in her neck. Her breath shuddered in against his ear and left with a long, shaky exhalation as she worked the zipper at her right hip, then the clasp at the nape of her neck. 

He was still kissing her neck when the slinky fabric slipped down over her curves and puddled around her heels. Sliding his hands slowly over her skin, he reached her hips to find absolutely nothing. 

Confused, he leaned back to find her naked but for a small pastie over each nipple. 

“You weren’t wearing anything?” he asked. His cock approved, going from reasonably hard to rock solid in an instant. Ryder shook her head, looking like the Cheshire Cat. He’d been so tempted to slip a finger into the back of her dress for a hint of what her panties might look like, but held back at the covetous stares she was receiving, not wanting to encourage anything. 

“Minx,” he snarled, cursing himself for missed opportunities and mourning the empty closets a place the size of Somerset House surely had. She laughed and carefully peeled the pasties off. “Whatcha gonna do about it?” she breathed against his lips. 

To start, he kissed her again, hard enough that she grunted, and slipped a hand between her thighs. Wet, as he’d hoped. He was a patient man, but his patience had worn thin over the course of the evening. He wanted her, now.

Breaking away, he propelled her to the couch with a hand on the back of her neck. She started to move toward the front of it, but the heels she was still wearing were tall enough that she could easily bend over the back. He directed her there and pushed downward. Ryder went willingly once she realized what he wanted, bracing her hands on the seat so that her sumptuous ass was presented to magnificent advantage. 

Reyes considered stripping completely but settled for shrugging out of his jacket, stripping off the cummerbund, and opening the trousers. Nudging her to a wider stance with quick taps of his feet, he purred, “Tell me what you want.” 

“You!” she panted. 

He ran a finger from the base of her skull and down her spine, goosebumps rippling over her flesh at his touch. “There’s me. Anything else?” 

Ryder’s swearing was usually creative, but it always reached new levels of inventiveness when he teased her. He stroked himself firmly, gazing at her exposed intimate parts and admiring legs lengthened by the high heels, until she ran out of words and snarled, “Fuck me, you bastard!” 

_Finally_. He was more than happy to oblige her and she was more than ready. Both of them groaned when he sank in to the hilt. Reyes pulled her thighs away from the back of the couch just enough to reach around to her clit, rubbing with circular motions as he moved in and out of her. She pushed back against him, redoubling the impact of each thrust and barking out little cries every time his hips thudded against her ass. 

She climaxed quickly, and the clenching of her pussy around him nearly undid him, but he tipped his head back and pushed down the urge to follow her. _She’s getting two tonight, and she’s going to feel it in the morning_.

It took longer for the second one, but when it came she gasped his name and shuddered even harder than she had the first time. Burying himself deeply, Reyes draped his body over hers to bite the top of her shoulder and released, grinding as he did until he was empty. _Mine_ , he thought as he stepped back, pleased with the way her knees sagged slightly before she bounced and wriggled over the back of the couch. 

With a thump, she rolled right off the cushion and onto the floor. Concerned, Reyes peered over to find her laughing madly, sprawled in the space between the couch and the coffee table. “Owww!” she howled between breaths. “Reyes, you broke me!” 

Seeing that she was fine, Reyes finished undressing and came around the front, shoving the coffee table out of the way to scoop up the still-giggling Ryder and cradle her against him as he reclined on the sofa. She was apparently in the grips of a full-blown laughing fit, and she gasped helplessly against his chest until she pulled him into it, too. 

The sound of his chuckles rumbling in his chest seemed to calm her. “Sorry,” she hiccuped. “That was just really, really good.” 

“I see,” he murmured, kissing the crown of her head. She always seemed so small when she was cuddled against him. It was easy to forget her size when she was up and about, full of spirit and taking no shit from anyone, but having her encircled in his arms like this made it easy to see the nineteen-centimetre, twenty-five-kilo difference between them. 

She was his _pajarillo_ , his little bird, and he’d never apologize for being protective of the person he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, friends? 
> 
> Hope you liked it, polarelle, and thanks for the ask!
> 
> Also, thanks to queenofkadara for continuing to let me borrow her Mara Ryder to be Laz' bestie. Read more about Mara in [Love, Lies, and Paradise: a Reyes Vidal romance](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10840626/chapters/24065115).


	6. Cold Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reyes allows Ryder to drag him out to the Southbank Christmas Market and finds an opportunity for revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the Christmas prompt, "A being an ass and putting their cold hands on B’s warm neck" submitted by ma-sulevin on Tumblr. I meant this to be a quick one, but Reyes ran away with me yet again. 
> 
> Minor **SPOILERS** for an upcoming chapter (7 or 8) of All or Nothing. Warnings for mention of past abuse and religious upbringing.
> 
> Written for the MEWC drunk Saturday night and posted in accordance with the rules, so apologies for typos.

Normally, Reyes wouldn’t be caught dead within a kilometre of the Southbank Christmas Market. To start with, it was focused on Christmas. He might have been raised a good Catholic in his early years, but he’d fallen out of practice long before he’d even left his father’s house. 

He didn’t begrudge others their faith, but he’d seen how his older sister was treated by those who thought what she did to put food on the table for him was a sin. As far as he was concerned, Maria was as much a saint as her namesake for taking care of him when their father wouldn’t, and he didn’t have the patience for anyone who thought otherwise.

Then there was everything else that had happened around Christmas. The holidays had always been a tense time, starting with his mother’s death and ending with the beating his father had handed him when he’d lost his first fight. It just felt cursed. 

Usually, he holed up in his flat, drinking too much whiskey, avoiding his friends, and burying himself in work while his employees at Collective Industries took the week between Christmas Eve and New Year to make merry. He didn’t begrudge them the indulgence; quite the opposite. He had the office closed from December 24 through January 2 every year, giving the period as automatic paid time off. Those who worked it got bonuses and those who didn’t weren’t stigmatized. It made his people happy, and it ensured he was too busy to think about his past.

This year, however, Ryder was in his life. Eight months after meeting her, he still wasn’t quite sure how he’d become so attached to her or how she’d become so much a part of his life that she was practically living with him. He’d nearly lost her two weeks ago, had seen the bullet-riddled vest with his own eyes. Reyes would kill for her on a good day, but on a day so close to one on which she’d nearly been killed, he’d go to the Christmas Market when she asked.

The bookies had put even odds on a white Christmas this year, and it had happened, if only barely. Even so, London had ground to a halt under a bare two centimetres of snow. The Overground had indefinite delays on account of snow and ice on the tracks and the Underground was delayed with the overflow of passengers. Cars crawled along the iced-over bridges from south to north. The plane trees lining the walk at even intervals along Southbank were bare of leaves but still sported the spiky balls that bore their seeds, now coated in a thin sheen of ice. Perpetually flat grey skies were now broken by tumbling clumps of white, blanketing pollution-dirtied buildings and making everything look clean. The waves of the Thames still crashed rhythmically against the bulwarks below; it would take a deeper freeze than this to touch the river and its tidal rise and fall. 

Ryder dragged him along in her wake with the fingers of her left hand laced through those on his right hand, bounding ahead of him in her excitement. Wisps of bright blue hair poked out from under her black knit cap, the bobble on the end bouncing with every step she took. She hated being cold, but she turned her face to the sky and smiled, sticking out her tongue to catch a clump of falling snow and laughing when a gust of wind sent it crashing against her nose instead.

A cacophony of Christmas songs, vendors hollering from their stalls, screaming children, and gratingly repetitive music from cheap fair rides made it impossible for Reyes to hear if a threat was approaching. People pressed even closer than usual for the city, any one of whom could be a pickpocket, or bearing a knife. The ground was slippery with snow half melted by an uneven distribution of grit salt on flagstones and pavement. His girlfriend was holding his gun hand, and while he could shoot the gun tucked at the small of his back under his coat with his off hand, it wasn’t his preference. 

As far as Anubis was concerned, it was a disaster waiting to happen. He couldn’t keep track of so many variables at once, not out in the midst of it, not knowing what might be a threat. But when he glanced at the woman keeping his hand captive and relaxed for a moment, Reyes took over...and Reyes was too busy watching Ryder, trying to figure out why his heart squeezed so hard at the way she looked cross-eyed at her nose and laughed at the melting snow on it. 

She spun to him, still smiling, her face red with cold and turquoise eyes bright. “See? It’s not so bad, right?” Looking down into her eyes, Reyes had to admit this Christmas Market had its charm, even if all of it lay in her enthusiasm. He used the hand clasped in hers to tug her closer, capturing her cheek with his left hand to kiss her. She melted against him like the snowflakes had on her nose, releasing her grip on his hand to throw both arms around his neck.

Whistles and cheers rose around them, along with a few shouted suggestions for how Reyes could take advantage of Ryder’s obvious ardour. She lifted one arm from his neck and he saw it extended from the corner of his eye, the middle finger on that hand proudly raised in a salute that drew easy laughter from their audience. 

Both of them started laughing along at the same time, breaking the kiss. Ryder cuddled against his chest, still chuckling as she burrowed into the neck of his wool coat. She stiffened as she caught her breath, taking in his scent on the inhale, and the look she gave him when she leaned back was the one that usually meant Anubis could come out to play. “We’ll have some fun later,” she promised huskily, capturing his hand again and pulling him toward a stall of German sausages blazoned with stereotypically black, red, and yellow paint. 

_We could have some fun now_ , he thought with a smirk, extending his free hand to scoop up a handful of snow from the stone balustrade and clenching it in his ungloved hand. While Ryder tried to decide between a bratwurst or a paper cone full of roasted, candied almonds, darting back and forth to smell both stands, Reyes let the snow melt in his grasp, chilling his fingers as it dripped between them, waiting for the right moment. 

Ryder spun back to him, mouth open to announce her decision, and Reyes slipped his cold, wet hand under her scarf and across the back of her neck. A moment of perfect confusion blanked Ryder’s face as her brain processed what was happening before the shrillest scream he’d ever heard from her escaped her throat. 

A moment of perfect silence surrounded them as shoppers tried to figure out whether someone was being hurt, whether there was an attack of some sort taking place. Ryder settled it for them with her shout of, “Reyes! You...you...fucking _hijo de puta madre_!”

Hearing one of his own curses falling from her lips in British-American-accented Spanish was so absurd that he doubled over laughing. The crowd jeered rudely at the lack of a real threat or laughed along with him, but quickly continued about its business as Reyes clutched at his knees and tried to catch his breath, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t remember laughing this hard at all, let alone the day before Christmas, and Ryder’s hands-on-hips fury started to melt as surely as the snow had in his hands. 

“You’re not funny!” she insisted with a stamp of one booted foot, trying to hold onto her anger and betrayed by the twitching of her lips. 

“ _Mi amor_ ,” he gasped, wiping moisture from his eyelashes, “that might be the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, and believe me, I needed it.”

“Hmpf,” she grumbled, tapping her toe and crossing her arms, obviously clinging to every scrap of righteous indignation she could find. “Fine.” She whirled back to the bratwurst stand, where the hefty and bemused grillmeister snapped to attention. “I’ll have a sausage, please. With mustard and onions.” The British part of her accent was extra crisp as she added, “ _He_ will pay for it.” 

Reyes happily pulled his wallet out and handed over a bill larger than was needful to cover the fee. “Keep the change,” he told the startled sausage seller. “It was worth it for the distraction.” He bought a cone of roasted nuts as well, just for good measure.

“You have mustard on your face,” he teased, slinging an arm over Ryder’s shoulder and pulling her close enough to lick it off as they passed under a footbridge and into the market proper. Fairy lights flashed and glass ornaments sparkled against the bright white of polyester snow as it blended with the dampness of real snow.

“You have...smug on your face,” she snarled, biting her bun-wrapped sausage more sharply than was strictly necessary to get a mouthful. 

“You would too if you’d seen yours a few minutes ago.”

Ryder finally broke, snorting a laugh. “Now you have mustard on your nose,” Reyes pointed out as he dabbed it off with his thumb. 

“You’re a bastard. And I love you,” she said, mouth quirked and challenge in her eyes. 

Reyes used the arm around her shoulder to pull her around to face him. “ _Yo también te amo_ ,” he whispered into her ear. When a silly grin slid across her face, he stole a bite of her sausage. “Mmm. Good.”

Her growl told him everything he needed to know about how much fun it would be to fuck her later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Masulevin - this was a prompt I really hoped to get! It also ran away with me quite a bit beyond what I'd first planned, so I hope it wasn't distressing. Thanks and lots of love for your constant support.


	7. Disappointment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A belated prompt-fill for blacksheep33512 for "Disappointment: Is there any way they disappoint each other?"

“You deserve more than this.” 

Reyes watches Ryder lift her head from his shoulder. She’s a little drunk, slumped against him in a booth at Tartarus, not in his private room, but in the downstairs area nearest the bar. 

“What?” she asks, blinking rapidly. 

Waving a hand to encompass the bar, Reyes repeats himself. “You deserve more than this. I don’t know why you put up with it.” 

“Reyes…” Ryder says, sitting up completely and leaning back to study him. Reyes is willing to admit that he’s maybe a little drunk; they’ve been working on a bottle of Macallan for the better part of two hours. That doesn’t change the fact that a woman like her - intelligent, talented, beautiful - deserves more than this. Deserves more than a shady boyfriend, a night out in a dodgy strip club in Camden. Deserves more than the shithole flat she insists on living in, more than the shitty treatment she receives at the Initiative. 

In a way, he’s disappointed in her. 

“Why do you settle?” he asks her. “For the Initiative. For that flat.” He pauses, whiskey sitting uncomfortably in his belly. “For me.” 

She recoils. “Don’t do this, Reyes. We were having a nice time.” 

“But _why_ , Laz? Tell me why.” Reyes has to know. He’s a master of figuring people out, of maneuvering them, but he can’t decipher why Ryder settles for so much less than she should. She’s the one person he can’t predict.

It can’t be for his money; she obviously appreciates it but doesn’t seem to care whether he spends it on her or not. It can’t be his looks or the obvious attraction she has for him; she’s run from him before. So why does she settle for a man like him? Someone who has lied to her, manipulated her. Someone who has a past that should make her run screaming. 

“I’m going to the toilet,” she says coldly, shoving his arm off of her shoulder. Reyes watches as she stalks away, notes the false smile she flashes at a dancer as they nearly collide and then head in the same direction. 

Kian appears with two pints of water. “Mate, don’t fuck this up,” he advises, plonking both glasses down hard enough to splash on the table. 

“What are you talking about?” Reyes asks, pointedly ignoring the water to finish his tumbler of whiskey and pour another. 

The bartender has uncanny insight when it comes to people, even when those people aren’t his former lovers. “I can see what you’re doing from behind the bar. Don’t drive her away,” he scolds. Reyes looks up at him, forcing his expression to remain blank, and Kian drops onto the bench beside him with a sigh. “Reyes...you’ve been alone for a long time. Probably longer than I know. I’m clever enough to know that I was a bump in the road, something temporary, hey?” 

Reyes grits his teeth and says nothing. It’s true, but part of him does still have feelings for the Irishman who’d guided him in his first steps from smuggler to CEO. 

Continuing mercilessly, Kian says, “Ryder...she’s more than a bump. She’s the fucking road, mate. Don’t go out of your way to cock it up just because you’re scared.” 

“I’m not scared,” Reyes snaps. “I’m disappointed that she settles.” The words slip out before he can stop them and he pours another three fingers of whiskey, slugging one back to cover the verbal misstep. 

His friend snatches the glass and swaps it with the water. “Fuck your disappointment. It’s an excuse, you knobhead. You have a brilliant, talented, intelligent, beautiful human being who loves you, even if she hasn’t figured it out herself yet, and you don’t know what to do. It’s _you_ who feels unworthy, not her who is. Fucking deal with it, or don’t come back here. I mean it.” 

Kian rises and returns to the bar, taking up a rag to scrub aggressively at the polished wood. Reyes glares at him, unwilling to explore the fact that he might be right. 

Ryder cuts across his field of view and draws his attention immediately, some instinct forcing him to watch her as she approaches. She’s angry, the slight sneer on her lips and the clenched fists at her side broadcasting the emotion as she sits heavily next to him. 

“You’re right,” she snaps. “I do deserve better. Don’t you fucking _dare_ act like you know what’s best for me again, or I’ll decide you’re not it.” 

Reyes glances at the bar where Kian scowls at him, then back at Ryder, her turquoise eyes crackling with rage barely held in check. He wrestles with himself, feeling the urge to say something crafted to push her away, to make her run again, to force her to decide he’s not the one for her. 

“I’m sorry,” are the words that finally make it out. “You...deserve better from me.”

From her blinks, Ryder is caught off-guard. “You’re a bit of a dick when you drink too much,” she snarls, folding her arms and angling away from him. Disappointment melts into longing. _Don’t turn away_. 

“Ryder...” he purrs, reflexively going for charming. She doesn’t react, eyes on one of the male dancers on stage. Edging closer, Reyes rests one hand on her hip and lays the other arm over her shoulder, dropping tender kisses on her neck. “Laz,” he tries again. “I’m sorry. I...this is new for me.”

“What, caring?” she snaps, twitching slightly, as if to escape him. Reyes pulls back, not wanting to force himself on her. “Yes,” he admits. 

Ryder’s head drops to her chest, then tilts toward him slightly. “Really?” she asks, body quivering as it tilts toward him yet tries to lean away. 

“Yes,” he says again, glaring back at Kian. The bartender nods, then moves off to serve someone. Ryder gives in, allows herself to melt against him. Reyes cautiously embraces her from behind, then pulls her to sit with her back to his front in his lap. By the end of the song blasting over the sound system she’s allowing him to kiss her, and he pours all of his regret into it. From the way she kisses him back, she understands.


	8. Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another glimpse into a night out for Laz and Reyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime early in their relationship, after their first night.

Ryder stumbles out of the bar, laughter stealing her breath almost as much as the bite of cold in the late autumn breeze does. The pulse of old-school R&B music follows her, as does Reyes, slightly less drunk and determined to ensure her safety.

As Ryder pants, catching her breath and taking in air that is fresh only in its coolness compared to that in the bar, Reyes wraps his arms around her from behind. His lips trace their way up her neck, her skin chilled by the night warmed and sparked afire. His fingers slowly skim up under her top and tease along the band of her bra.

She leans back into him, gazing up at the sky. Clouds obscure whatever stars might otherwise be visible in Central London, dully reflecting the amber glow of city lights on their surface. Lorries making deliveries to corner shops rumble past, their drivers shouting in rough accents as they sidle into difficult parking on narrow streets.

The kisses on her neck spur Ryder to turn and claim Reyes’ lips for herself. He groans, letting his guard down as his tongue meets hers. Madness steals over her and she breathes, “Catch me,” as she breaks the kiss and darts away.

Laughter bubbles out of her chest, floating in her wake as he shouts, “Hey! Dammit, Ryder!” behind her. She feels the brush of fingers on her arm as she darts away, hears his footsteps pounding after her. She’s too quick, too fleet, having drunk enough to make her daring but not so much as to be uncoordinated. Ryder feels a goddess as she speeds down dark streets, dodging wooden pallets loaded with plastic-wrapped goods and queues of people waiting to get into other bars.

Orange. Black. Orange. Black. Streetlights alternate with shadow as she races on.

“Ryder!” Reyes shouts, close behind her. She spins, skipping backward for two steps to see how close, and it’s her undoing. He catches her arm, pulls her around into a doorway, traps her against a rough wall of grey-white stone. Ryder can’t breathe, laughter stealing the air from her lungs even as she sucks it in. She’s not even sure what’s funny or why, only that she feels _good_ and the feeling has to free itself somehow.

Reyes stares down at her, a blend of arousal and confusion warring in his expression as she smiles up at him. Arousal wins and he bends to kiss her.

Mischievousness still sings in her blood and she tries to break away again when they come up for air. Reyes knows her trick this time; he holds onto her arm with one hand and pins her in place against the wall by the throat with the other. The pressure of his hand and the light impact of her head against the wall at her back sparks a delicious thrill of pleasure through her. She gasps, her wide turquoise eyes meeting his golden ones.

Slowly, painfully slowly, the hand holding onto her arm slides down her flank, over her hip, and along the waistband of her leather trousers. It opens the fastener and slips inside her panties. Ryder inhales sharply as his clever fingers find her clit and stroke against it.

“Don’t stop,” she pants when he pauses to gauge her reaction. She doesn’t care that they’re in the street; his body is bigger than hers and shields them from passersby who can probably guess what’s going on but can’t actually see. At this time of night, it’s not like anyone cares, anyway.

He obeys, fingers slicking against the pearl of her pleasure as the other hand tightens around her throat. His lips find hers, devouring them, their warmth contrasting with the night air. Two long fingers slip inside her, flickering against the spot within her core. Ryder is trapped by his touch, can feel the uneven stone digging into her back as he presses harder, and all it does is goad her orgasm closer.

She won’t tolerate being controlled, being owned, being restricted. But here, now, with no escape and her climax rising, she wants this. Wants the steady pressure of his fingertips against her clit, his tongue in her mouth, his grip on her neck. Wants the fluttery feeling that comes from a combination of control and lust and exertion. Wants him to make her come right there, in the street. Wants to lose herself in him.

It doesn’t take long. Sometimes Ryder thinks Reyes has sold his soul to the Devil; no man should be that good. No man should have that kind of power, to make her shudder and drag a scream from her mouth, muffled against his lips. But he does and all she can do is ride it out, close her eyes, and savour the shocks of bliss rippling over her.

When it passes she’s breathless. His golden eyes are shaded in the darkness but she can still feel the weight of them. “You like it like this?” he asks, voice raspy.

She does and she tells him so; from the way the bulge in his trousers presses against her, Ryder knows he does, too. He’s controlled, orderly, restrained, but there’s an edge to Reyes, a part of him that likes to dominate and be seen doing so. Other men have tried mastering her in all areas of her life, but Reyes seems content with occasional sexual acts of dominance, leaving her free to lead her own life otherwise.

It’s oddly thrilling to submit to him like this.

Reyes kisses her again, giving the impression of trying to drink her soul in with the cry of surprise he pulls from her. “I want more,” she whispers, her lips sliding against his. He leans back to look at her and even in the poor light, she can read his expression. Evaluating. Intrigued. But most of all, _hungry_.

“Let’s get a taxi, then, _pajarillo_ ,” he says finally.

All Ryder can think about as they make out on the way to his place is what it would be like for him to dominate her completely. Not just the hints of play he’s shown her with cuffs, but rougher things. His confusion at her laughter is just icing on the cake.

Ryder never considered herself the type to enjoy being tied down and right now, it’s almost hilarious.


	9. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The early days of Laz and Reyes working together at Collective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set a couple of weeks after the end of [Renegades](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11749008/chapters/26478780).

Ryder scrubs at eyes glued shut by sleep with one hand, slapping blindly for her phone with the other. It’s a work day, she knows it is. The sun is worryingly high for the time of morning it should be given the time she set her alarm. 

She’s slept through it. 

“Bugger,” she swears, throwing off the heavy duvet and leaping out of bed, tripping over the jeans she’d discarded last night. According to the phone, it’s Wednesday and she should have been at Collective an hour ago.

Not that anyone can really say anything if she’s late; she is her own boss, after all. That was the condition she’d negotiated with Reyes. Still...it’s bad form for a director to be late. 

She showers quickly, slaps on some eyeliner and mascara, and tugs on last night’s jeans and a fresh top before running out with her satchel and helmet in one hand and her leather jacket in the other. A stick of gum will have to do in place of brushing her teeth. 

Fortunately, Collective Industries is nearer to her place than the Initiative and the Tempest is a good little bike for weaving through traffic. As she strides in, boot heels clicking on the marble floor, she passes Aquila on his way out for a smoke. “Good of you to join us today, Ms Ryder,” he offers sarcastically. 

Ryder rolls her eyes and keeps walking. The man has never liked her and she isn’t keen on him, either. 

The lift seems to stop on every floor this morning as she makes her way up to the twentieth, where she and Reyes have their offices across the hall from each other. Checking her phone doesn’t change the flow of time but she keeps doing it anyway. Normally, she wouldn’t be this bothered. But normally, she hasn’t risked her life breaking into the CEO’s office to demand a special arrangement.

Reyes is in the main floor space when she finally makes it to their floor, talking to Crux. Like Aquila, Crux is one of Reyes’ key people. Unlike Aquila, she’s actually a decent human being. Not as cool as Keema, but not a dickbag, either.

As she passes them, Ryder feels Reyes’ eyes on her. “Morning,” she mumbles before darting into her office, dropping her satchel, helmet, and jacket on the floor in a heap, and throwing herself into her chair. She’s already working by the time Reyes leans against the doorframe and she studiously ignores him as she opens and discards a series of emails. 

When she made the arrangement to work for his company, Ryder hadn’t anticipated how difficult it would be to spend the day with him yet be unable to touch him. Wrapping her head around the fact that he’s an ex-hitman and recent murderer in addition to being the secret CEO of Collective isn’t helping. He’s been giving her space without complaint, so she hasn’t seen him since Sunday.

It’s part of why she’s afraid to look at him. His effect on her is something she struggles to understand, an instinctive physical reaction combined with an intense mental connection. She loves him and it scares her. Wanting his touch to the point of needing it scares her more. 

He’s patient. Waiting her out is nothing to him, a few minutes to a man who acts like he has all the time in the world. No more emails remain and she flicks her gaze up to meet his.

“ _Hola_ ,” he greets her, so casual, so suave in a black button-down shirt, designer jeans, and shiny black leather shoes. One word with those smoldering golden eyes and chills race down her spine, her core tightens, and her panties dampen. He fucked her thoroughly two nights ago but here she is, wishing he would shut the door, bend her over her own desk, cover her mouth with one of his big, strong hands, and fuck her hard.

Ryder clears her throat. “Hi. Umm...sorry I’m late. Not a morning person.”

His grin only curls the right corner of his lips. “So I’ve seen.” Ryder flushes, knowing he’s not referring to the last time she was late coming in but the other morning, when she slept later than he and woke to him watching her. The remembered intimacy makes her flush deeper and his grin spreads to the other corner of his lips. 

Reyes’ eyes drop to her own lips and Ryder realizes that they’re parted slightly, her breathing faster than usual as her mind wanders toward what he did with his mouth the other day. The kisses trailing down her body, his tongue flicking against her clit, the sharpness of teeth against her nipples as his cock sinks into her. She closes her mouth and swallows. 

“Do you have time to join a call with Keema at eleven? Kelly Group could use an update on their cybersecurity risks,” he asks easily, as if he’s completely unaware of what his presence does to her. Ryder blinks, looks back at her monitors, and clicks over to her calendar, frowning as she reminds herself how to navigate it. She’s not used to being consulted or having her opinion matter, so she's not used to paying attention to a schedule. She’s never asked for input at the Andromeda Initiative but at Collective, Reyes regularly asks her to join calls with both clients and internal stakeholders. 

It’s almost as heady a feeling as his lust. Ryder wonders if he knows it turns her on and decides he does; he can read her better than anyone ever has. Even her twin doesn’t understand her as well as Reyes does. Knowing it doesn’t reduce the proud set of her shoulders as she confirms that yes, she is free at eleven.

They don’t slump even knowing that Reyes, with his need to control everything he possibly can, probably chose to set the meeting at that time because he already knew her calendar was open. It’s just nice to be valued. To be heard.

She’s not stupid. Reyes can be manipulative but he doesn’t fuck around where his business is concerned. He’ll stroke an ego when he has to but prefers directness. She’s certain part of the reason he’s with her is that she can grow his own ambitions. When she really thinks about it, she’s okay with it.

As far as Ryder is concerned, that’s more honest than anyone she’s been with before. Reyes is who he is, fully and unapologetically. He lies and cheats and steals, even kills, but he has a code, and ever since Ryder broke into his office he hasn’t tried any of his manipulations with her. 

He respects her, or at the very least, sees her as dangerous or valuable enough not to cross. And that suits her. 

They’re in the canteen at the same time later. Ryder’s making tea. Reyes is making a strong espresso. She catches his glance out to the main office space in the instant before he kisses her. It’s barely enough time to prepare herself for the rush of his body pressed against hers, her ass against the counter at her back, his hands holding her still, her fingers twined through his hair.

Reyes backs off almost as quickly as he took her, sipping the espresso as though nothing had happened even as Ryder turns back to the counter to pour twice as much sugar into her tea as she usually takes. 

“We can’t do this here,” she breathes. She wants to make something of this opportunity, to be more than the boss’s girlfriend, even if nobody knows that’s the case yet. They’ll figure it out eventually; people always do. But until they do, she has a chance to prove herself.

He doesn’t answer, watching her over the rim of his stupidly tiny mug with dangerous eyes. Ryder opts for truth; he always responds to it. “Reyes...I want you to fuck me right here, right now. But I need to stand on my own two feet here. It’s bad enough I’m late to work without rumours of bedding the hot consultant across the hall.”

That smile curls his lips again and Ryder wishes she could take the words back. His touch is electric, his gaze is incendiary, and the fact that she can have him whenever she asks is continually on her mind. But she needs to establish herself, separately from him, to prove that she’s earned having a position created for her. 

She has that thought in mind until they bump into each other outside the toilets. Then her lips are on his, her arms around his neck, until he gently grasps her waist and steps back. “Ryder…” he warns. 

It’s all he needs to say. Ryder can see the want in his gaze. She knows that if she doesn’t back off, he’ll give her what she wants, right here, right now. 

Summoning a saucy grin, she promises, “Later,” and saunters away. The low growl at her back tells her exactly what she can expect when she arrives at his place that evening.

Everything he wants and everything she craves.


	10. Longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kian's thoughts on London's power couple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For queenofkadara / pikapeppa - you know why. 
> 
> Set about a month or so after All or Nothing, so minor spoilers for the end of that fic but only because of how I set up parts of the last chapter.

A peal of bright laughter accompanied the slamming of the door upstairs, breaking through the din of drunk patrons and blaring music. Only one person Kian knew laughed like that and only one other person could draw that unfettered amusement from her. 

Reyes and Ryder were here. 

Kian tugged his shirt straight and grabbed a glass to polish, striving for casual nonchalance as London’s secret power couple appeared at the top of the stairs. Reyes was, as usual, wearing a black button-down shirt with designer jeans that had to have cost a week’s rent, black hair neatly cut short on the sides and swept back on top. Ryder had also opted for her usual, skintight black leather biker trousers and a low-cut top in cobalt blue to match her hair, dressing up the ensemble with a pair of the high heels Kian’s dancers had had to teach her how to walk in about a year ago.

They were gorgeous, and happy, and seemingly oblivious to the fact that their natural chemistry and charisma drew every eye in the bar despite the naked dancers on stage.

Ryder shared a portion of her delight with Kian when she managed to tear her gaze away from Reyes. “Kian!” she cried, darting to the bar to lean over it for a kiss. Kian happily obliged, brushing her cheek with his lips and smelling a hint of whiskey on hers already. _They’ll be sleeping here_ , Kian predicted as he ducked under the bar for the bottle of Macallan he reserved for their visits. 

After a similar kiss for Reyes, Kian poured them both a triple and took up his rag again, using feigned busyness to cover his racing heart and shaking hands as he scrubbed at the already clean bar. “So what brings London’s most wanted to my place tonight?” he taunted, unable to help his cheeky grin at Reyes’ sharp glance. The man was easy as sin to bait and always had been; it was part of his charm. Ryder just laughed, her lover’s counterbalance, as ever. 

“Can’t we get out and see our friends sometimes?” she asked, somehow both teasing and serious. The tension in Reyes’ shoulders eased. _How this man survived as an assassin without her to cover for his lack of humour, I’ll never know_ , Kian thought. 

“Friends, plural, is it?” he prodded aloud. “Have you got Keema to come out as well then?” 

“They bloody well have done,” Keema’s voice said from his side. 

“Hello, love,” Kian greeted her warmly. How he’d missed the statuesque woman approaching the bar, he wasn’t sure. 

_That’s a lie_ , he berated himself. _All you had eyes for was Reyes, as usual_. 

Keema’s long braids tickled his cheek as they hugged. “This is grand,” Kian said. “What are we celebrating?” They had to be celebrating, because Reyes hadn’t disappeared into his hidey-hole upstairs yet, and it had to be Ryder’s idea, because Reyes never celebrated anything. In a decade of friendship, Kian hadn’t even learned the man’s birthday until Ryder had called two weeks ago to discuss plans for a party at the end of May. 

Ryder beamed and Keema, her arm still around his waist, rolled her eyes. “These two idjits realised an hour ago that they met a year ago last week and wanted to celebrate. How could I say no?” 

“Not just that!” Ryder protested. “I met Kian a year ago as well!” Her perky demeanor faded into a more serious mien. “You lot are…” She bit her lip and swallowed, then avoided everyone’s eyes when she continued. “You’re the only people who know all of me,” she finished in a quieter voice. Reyes tugged her close and kissed the top of her head.

Kian snorted and grinned, touched that while she’d nearly forgotten the anniversary of meeting Reyes, their friendship meant this much to her. “Well, lass. That sounds like it’s worth raising a glass to, hey?” Grabbing two more tumblers, he filled everyone up to two fingers and raised his own glass. “To London’s most wanted,” he toasted, winking at Reyes, who glared flatly even as his cheek twitched with a repressed smile.

“To the friends we love,” Ryder added, looking seriously at Kian and Keema in turn before she drank. 

A lump in Kian’s throat made it difficult to swallow his whiskey, but he managed not to choke on it. “Go on and dance then, you wankers,” he prompted. “Just don’t take all the tips out of my dancers’ pockets, hey?” 

At the word “dance,” Ryder perked up and turned pleading eyes on Reyes. “You can’t turn her down looking like that, can you, mate?” Kian teased despite the clench of his heart. Reyes smirked before leaning over to speak into Ryder’s ear, his hand sliding up and over her chest to clasp her throat and squeeze. Whatever he said blanked her expression before filling it with hunger and she nodded, the movement restricted by the grip of his fingers. 

“We’ll be back,” Reyes said lazily, standing and directing Ryder with a hand on the back of her neck. Kian watched them go, an echo of Ryder’s hunger burning in his blood.

Keema’s hip bumped his and Kian turned his attention tidying the bar. “You still love him, don’t you?” she asked when he didn’t acknowledge her, swirling the whiskey in her glass. 

“Not your business, Keems,” Kian muttered, flipping a clean wine glass to hang it by its stem from the overhead rack.

Nodding, Keema took a dainty sip of her drink. “I thought so.”

Kian hung another glass, then looked out on the small open space of the lower floor. Reyes and Ryder moved against each other, all sinuous hips and clutching hands. Only someone who knew them would catch the way Reyes continually flicked his gaze up and around the bar to keep an eye on their surroundings, alert as ever for threats even while Ryder was completely and utterly lost in him, her lean form winding sinuously against Reyes’ more muscular frame. 

The music switched tempos, yet neither missed a beat. Reyes, the perpetual dominant, followed Ryder’s lead for once, slowing the pulse of his hips against her to provide a counterpoint to the faster movements of Ryder’s ass against him. 

“She’s good for him,” Kian muttered, noting Ryder’s submission in the tilt of her head even as she led Reyes with her hips. He snatched empty glasses from the end of the bar and dropped them into the dishwasher with a clatter. 

Keema said nothing, watching, waiting. Kian reflected - not for the first time - that she was a near-perfect female version of Reyes. Maybe even an improved version, given that she was absolutely impossible to influence. It was why he’d introduced them in the first place, beyond Keema’s need for information and a place to stay; she had been his first attempt at balancing Reyes when he’d realised sex wasn’t enough to harness the vast potential he'd seen in the other man. 

Both women and men, including Kian himself, had set their sights on the elusive CEO, catching him for a time but failing to hold onto him. Reyes needed the full package - sex appeal, power, intelligence, and skill - in order to settle. Ryder offered that in spades and her hacking made her an integral part of Reyes’ larger plans and ambitions. As a result, Reyes was more powerful, yet somehow more normal, than he’d been in the eleven years Kian had known him. 

Shutting the dishwasher with an irritated shove, Kian said, “Fine. Okay. I still love him and always will. He never loved me, and never will. And you know what, Keema? It’s fine. I wish Ryder the best of him, truly. She has more patience for his moody bullshit than I ever did, from the looks of things, and in any case, I’m not into all the...the control stuff.” He loved and trusted Reyes, but the bondage games had never been Kian’s cuppa.

Keema draped an arm over his shoulders, disrupting his aggravated cleaning, and kissed his temple. “You’re a far better man than you give yourself credit for, Kian,” she murmured. “And he does love you, in his way. In any case, Ryder caught all of us by surprise. Including him. Maybe especially him.” 

“Yeah, well…” Kian trailed off as his throat thickened. “I just want what’s best for him, you know? Even if it’s not me. Besides...Ryder makes it bloody difficult not to like her.”

Laughing, Keema admitted, “Believe me, I tried. I thought Reyes’ obsession was a mistake, especially after Zia.” 

“Zia,” Kian muttered. “There’s one I wouldn’t be sorry to see at the bottom of the Thames.” She’d been one of the low periods in Reyes’ life in London. 

“I’m fairly certain that’s where she is,” Keema murmured, sipping her whiskey again. “She was with Sloane in the end, and I think we both know how that particular obstacle to Rey’s plans was removed.”

Kian snorted, breaking his own rule about drinking on the job to slug back another finger of whiskey. He loved Reyes, but he didn’t envy Ryder the task of channeling Reyes’ more destructive methods.

“Long live the king and queen,” Kian toasted, finishing his drink. “And who knows,” he added with a grin, “maybe one day they’ll look for a third, hey?” 

Keema’s blank expression of surprise lifted Kian’s spirits. He always did enjoy shocking his friends.


	11. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Ryder moves in with Reyes.

Dawn creeps up on Ryder, the first hints of light stealing through the curtains to make Reyes’ features faintly visible. She’s been staring at him for hours, waiting for his predator’s senses to tell him he’s being watched and wake him, but he’s still asleep. He trusts her that much, that even his subconscious doesn’t register her as a threat.

So why is she so afraid?

Ryder shifts slightly to alleviate pressure on the foot that’s fallen asleep from the way she’s been sitting on it. Reyes’ hand tightens slightly on her thigh before he sighs and slides closer. 

This is her life now. 

The last of the moving-in tasks were completed yesterday. All of her things are here. Her address changed at the post office, her bank, her bike, her bills, and all of her loyalty cards for the shops, all updated and moved and redirected. Her deposit on the shithole studio flat in Stratford, with its cracked ceiling and mice in the walls, has been returned. 

She officially lives at this posh address in Regent’s Park with a boyfriend who feels more like a husband, whose joy at finally having her here, all his, was expressed in a lavish home-cooked meal followed by a bottle of whiskey she’s certain had cost Reyes at least a month’s rent for her old studio. Keema and Kian had been invited; Ryder suspected it was their first time at the flat given their wide-eyed appraisal. 

The friends had drunk wine and then whiskey until everyone was so thoroughly shitfaced that the other two had passed out on the couches downstairs while Reyes bodily threw Ryder over his shoulder and carried her upstairs kicking and laughing. As far as Ryder knows, they’re both still asleep while she sits here regarding her lover with confusion. 

This is what she wants. Ryder knows that. She remembers the flash of insight that nearly got her killed when it hit her on the Tempest, the red glare of the traffic light and white flash of the speed camera as she defied them both, the roar of the lorry’s horn as she barely skidded the motorcycle around a corner ahead of it.

And yet here she is, terrified, kneeling in a bed she’s slept in hundreds of times with a man she loves more than she has words to express, waiting for him to wake up and see her and _say something_. 

But he doesn’t. Reyes dreams on, sleeping in for possibly the first time since she’s known him, blissfully unaware of Ryder’s turmoil while she silently panics.

It’s too much. Ryder slides out of bed, wincing at Reyes’ disappointed but unconscious sigh, and heads downstairs.

“I wondered how long it would take you,” Kian murmurs, extending a steaming mug of Earl Grey as Ryder darts into the kitchen. The corner of his eyes are pinched tight and he’s sticking to the shadowed side of the room. Ryder hadn’t thought the bartender could get hungover, but after last night she supposes Reyes could drink anyone under the table.

“Dunno what you’re on about,” Ryder mutters even as she accepts the mug. There’s no lemon in it; Reyes _always_ puts a slice of lemon in, just like she prefers, but how would Kian know that? What’s he doing up this early, anyway?

Kian regards her over his own mug, the sharp scent of coffee a similar invasion to her senses as that precipitated by Reyes each morning. Ryder leans back against the counter, aiming for nonchalance, and Kian mirrors her against the opposite. 

“You do know,” Kian murmurs, green gaze as sharp as it was the night of their first drunken connection, the night Ryder figured out that he and Reyes had been a thing once upon a time but weren’t now and never would be again.

Why they aren’t still an item, Ryder doesn’t know. She knows better than to ask. Reyes has his secrets, and this one in particular is none of her business. Of all the things hidden in the man’s past, this one she can leave him. 

The toaster pops. Ryder jumps, hissing as she sloshes hot tea over the rim of her mug and onto her hand. She transfers it to her other hand, shaking the scalded one free of liquid and blowing on it. Kian says nothing as he plucks out two browned slices of bread.

“In the microwave,” Ryder prompts when Kian sticks his head in the fridge. He looks at her in confusion, then shuts the fridge and pulls the butter out of the microwave. “Your nonsense or his?” the Irishman asks, hunting in the drawers until he finds a knife.

“Mine,” she admits. Reyes had been even more appalled at this particular habit of hers than the dirty clothes, abandoned teacups, and cooling leftovers combined, but had acquiesced when she complained for the tenth time about cold, unspreadable butter. 

Kian glances at her once, then dips the knife into the butter. His lips curl down as his eyebrows flash up at the smooth way the spread easily covers the toast. 

“See?” Ryder prompts, pleased by his reaction. 

Kian tilts his head side to side in an eerie echo of the motion she has seen Reyes make a hundred times. “I could get behind warm butter,” he concedes, finishing his spreading and taking a bite of one slice, handing Ryder the other. She accepts, considering it before nibbling the corner. 

They regard each other a few moments before Ryder speaks. “Fine. Yes. I’m still trying to figure out...all of this.” She gestures broadly at the flat and Kian nods. “Not what you’re used to?” 

Ryder shrugs, somewhat uncomfortable. “From him, yes. For myself, no.” She swallows the rest of her words. This is edging into uncertain territory in more ways than one. Isn’t it taboo to talk about your boyfriend with his ex? She certainly isn’t one to blather on about her feelings. Not to Reyes, not without a bloody good reason, so certainly not to anyone else.

Green eyes flick over her face, cool, evaluating, lacking the sharp edge of Reyes’ intensity but with similar intent. “Don’t,” Ryder warns flatly. It’s enough having one man try to read her.

The hint of a smile flickers at the corner of Kian’s mouth before he sips his coffee. “Sorry,” he murmurs once he’s swallowed. “Habit. I _am_ a barman, after all.” 

They regard each other again for long moments, mugs of tea and coffee held like shields in front of their mouths, blocking the wrong words from springing forth. Keema snores on in the next room, oblivious.

“He loves you,” Kian says finally, showing his hand. “More than anything. More than anyone. More than I thought he was capable of loving.”

“I know,” Ryder whispers. She takes a fortifying sip of tea. “That’s what scares me.”

Kian sighs and takes two steps to cross the kitchen. Ryder jumps as his arm slides over her shoulder, warm, friendly, but not in the slightest way sexual. Oddly, it’s reassuring. She relaxes, unaccustomed to physical contact from anyone not Reyes but recognising that he’s trying to comfort her. 

“He. Loves. You.” Kian repeats, each word dropping like a stone. “Do you love him?” 

Ryder bristles. “Yes,” she snarls. She’s a hacker, not a hitman like Reyes or mob boss like Keema, but if there’s one thing Ryder knows it’s that she loves Reyes, would ride or die, would fight and kill for him - just like he would for her.

“Good lass,” Kian murmurs. Ryder leans away just far enough to see a sad smile flash over his face. _I can see what Reyes saw in him_ , she realises, and kisses him on the cheek before resting her head on his shoulder, sad for him, yet content. This is exactly what she needs. Exactly what she was waiting for as she watched Reyes sleep. 

Confirmation. 

They’re still standing like that, Ryder leaning against Kian, his head atop hers, when Reyes makes his way downstairs. His golden eyes flick between the two of them, narrowing minutely as they read in an instant that something has passed between her and Kian even if Reyes doesn’t know what. Another glance, the slight tilt of his head telling Ryder something has occurred to him. The faintest curl of his lips telling her he’s pleased with whatever the thought was.

The moment passes.

“Who wants bacon?” Reyes asks, turning away to open the fridge. 

“Mate, you’re speaking my language,” Kian sighs, rubbing his left temple with his free hand. 

“Only if it’s streaky bacon,” Ryder hedges. There are very few things she prefers from the American part of her upbringing, but _that_ is one thing she insists upon. 

“Bacon?” Keema slurs from the couch, sitting up and squinting before adding, “Fuck me, who turned on the lights? Turn that shit off.”

“That’s the sun, ye daft bitch,” quips Kian, stepping away from Ryder and going to tug playfully at one of Keema’s goddess braids. 

“Fuck you, you bloody cockwombling wanker, how many times have I told you to leave off my fucking hair?” she snaps, swatting blindly but forcefully at his hand. Kian grins, mischief incarnate, as he dances to her other side. 

Ryder smiles as she slides her hands around Reyes’ waist and hugs him from behind. “I love you,” she whispers in his ear. 

The hand not holding two varieties of bacon grasps her hands, squeezing even as Reyes goes still. “You’re not going to run?” 

The hint of fear in his voice hits Ryder in the gut, chilling the gaiety of Keema and Kian’s ongoing battle in the next room. “Not from you.”

“You thought about it,” Reyes replies softly, closing the fridge. It’s a statement, not a question, and Ryder squirms before she can help herself. Her boyfriend turns in her arms, tipping her chin up with his free hand when she tries to avoid his eyes. 

“It was a long night,” she hedges, chewing her lip. Reyes glances at Kian, the two men making eye contact even as the Irishman continues to tease Keema. Reyes nods, the movement nearly imperceptible. Kian nods back, that same sad smile flickering over his features before he manages to hide it. 

Reyes studies Ryder before taking a slow step toward the stove, growling quietly when she won’t let him go but reaching for a pan from the overhead rack without disentangling her. “You can leave whenever you want,” he promises, setting the pan on the stove.

“I know,” Ryder replies, letting him go and reaching for her forgotten tea. “I’ll be honest, this is new and scary and feels a fuckton more like a marriage than I thought I was ready for. But…” she shrugs and takes a sip of strong black bergamot, trying to hide the depths of her emotions in the half-finished mug of tea. “I’m yours.” 

Strips of bacon align neatly in the pan as Reyes smiles, the secret smile that’s all for her. “And I’m yours,” he whispers, glancing at her. 

“Oi! Rey, if you’re putting that nasty streaky shit in with the proper bacon, I’m never sleeping over again,” Keema shouts. 

Rolling his eyes, Reyes reaches up for another pan. “I might consider that an improvement on the current situation,” he snaps. There’s no bite to the words though, only a brotherly annoyance that Laz recognizes from the better days of her relationship with Scott. She pops more bread in the toaster, her heart feeling lighter than it has in days. “Juice, Keema? Coffee?” 

“Coffee,” their friend confirms gratefully, slumping as Kian finally leaves off his harassment and drops onto the other sofa. “Thank fuck someone in this house is decent in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I think I'm done with these two, they poke me to write a little more.


	12. Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill: kiss in moonlight for admiration.

In daylight, Laz is shades of cobalt and turquoise, amber and onyx and hematite. By the light of the full moon, with no city lights to wash her in faded orange or harsh white, she is all silver. 

This trip was her idea. Reyes is a city boy, always has been, always will be. He can deal with the woods or the beach or the mountains, survive in the wilds if required, but he never seeks them out. Cities are where he feels safest, lost in the anonymity of millions. Everything he could want or need is at his fingertips, a call and a bank transfer away, and he is a hunter amidst flocks of sheep.

Laz wanted to go camping. 

They’d compromised on a cabin at Land’s End, far enough away from everything for Laz to feel free but close enough to civilisation for Reyes not to feel adrift. 

As sunset had drawn on, Laz had demanded he turn off his phone and follow her. The cabin sits on extensive grounds, rolling fields of waving grass giving way to granite cliffs overlooking the vastness of the Atlantic ocean. 

To his surprise a picnic had been set up, spread on a red wool blanket anchored by heavy stones against the breeze blowing in from shore. A lantern stood ready for the coming dark and a large wicker basket - the sort he’d only ever seen in old movies - sat with lid bursting, the neck of a wine bottle peeping out. 

“That had better be on ice,” he’d warned, throat tightening. Where had she come up with this? When had she set it up? Laz isn’t, and has never been, a romantic. Reyes is the one who plans dates and outings. Had he been on the phone with Keema that long? 

“It is,” she replied breathily. Reyes glanced at her, reading her tells. Arms crossed, lower lip firmly between her teeth, looking anywhere but at him. “Lazuli,” he growled, putting a note of command into his voice. She stiffened, eyes darting to his reflexively, and Reyes let his delight at her effort wash over his face. “This is lovely. Thank you.” 

Laz smiled broadly as she slumped and then dropped to her knees at the edge of the blanket, flipping up the lid of the basket to pull out the wine in its ice sleeve and lay out the spread she’d packed. Food was never something she paid much attention to; Reyes had lost count of the number of times he’d stocked her fridge for her or reminded her to eat before she’d moved in with him. But in this impressive spread of nibbles he recognised all of his favourites, or as near as he supposed she could find here. Sausages, cheeses, fruits, olives, crackers and stuffed peppers and grape leaves.

She’d done all this for him. He clenched his jaw, wondering not for the first time how he’d gotten this lucky.

They ate in companionable chatter, finishing off one bottle of wine, then a second. The sun set, bathing all in gold. Reyes lost track of time, forgetting to check his phone in his fascination for Ryder’s tales. Hearing her speak of camping with her family as a child provided gems of information he gathered like the precious treasures they were, even as he was saddened by the distance between her and Scott now. The day was lost beneath the horizon before she ran out of stories.

And here they are, sitting with knees up, bathed in the light of a midsummer’s full moon, Laz tucked under his arm as the waves crash against the cliffs below. The stars are dimmed but visible and the field around them is painted argent, each blade of grass, every crest of the incoming waves strangely visible in a way that he’d never noticed before.

This is not how Reyes is accustomed to spending his time. He abhors the idea of being “unplugged”. What’s the point of being a multi-millionaire if you don’t have access to anything and everything? But right here, right now, with this brilliant woman pressed against his side, the heat of her body suffusing him, Reyes is strangely okay with the fact that he hasn’t checked in with his people in at least four hours. Maybe six. It’s hard to tell.

He leans far enough away to gaze down at her, calmer than he’s felt in weeks and admiring her for making it happen. “You’re an incredible woman, you know that?” 

Laz glances at him, the silver light casting shadows that exacerbate the sense of shyness he gets from the set of her shoulders and the lopsided smile he can half-see. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she quips. 

Reyes laughs, then pulls her to him for a kiss. Unbalanced, they fall back against the blanket. Laz doesn’t break the kiss as she straddles him, skimming soft hands and sharp nails along his flanks. 

“Are you feeling lucky?” she asks, biting his lip. 

Grinning around a hiss of pain, Reyes grasps her hips and kisses her again before replying. “With a moon goddess of my own, how could I not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the prompt, masulevin!


	13. Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiss prompt fill: shower/relief.

“Lazuli? Laz!” 

Reyes’ shout cuts through the din of voices, beeping medical equipment, and ringing phones. Head aching like it’s about to split open, Ryder looks up, maintaining pressure against the cut on her brow just as the A&E doc had instructed. “Hey, love,” she croaks when Reyes is close enough. 

For all her effort to sound nonchalant her voice cracks at the concern in his gold-hazel gaze. Reyes is sliding into Anubis but there’s nobody to kill here, no-one to unleash the energy toward, and she's too tired and injured to direct it tonight.

She blinks, struggling to focus on her lover as he catches her chin to look at her. “Shit,” he grumbles, looking around for someone to command. A&E is bustling tonight and neither doctors nor nurses are in sight, only those not injured badly enough to be given a room or taken to surgery.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Minor concussion, contusion, all the fun c-words except for the best one,” Ryder mumbles, wanting to sleep. “Was a big accident. You should see the other guy.” 

Anubis focuses on her again, not allowing her to lead him into the joke, his eyes gone hard as topaz. Ryder turns her head to kiss his palm. “Seriously. I just need to rest. Or something.” He stares at her a moment longer. “They won’t see you?” he asks, his accent thicker than usual. Ryder shrugs. “Some people died. All I got was a bump on the head. See?” 

Ryder’s not sure what possesses her to peel the gauze away to show him the gash but Anubis hisses, teeth bared, lip curled, as a trickle of blood leaks out.

“How?” he growls.

She shrugs and sighs, the near-miss of the evening weighing on her. “Something made the lorry next to me swerve and jackknife. I managed to see it in time, skid under it, and hit the divider wheels first rather than eating the lorry. Helmet's a loss, though, and the car tailgating me wasn’t so lucky.” There’s more to it than that, a trail of vehicular carnage down the M1, but Ryder is too exhausted to explain. She lived and Reyes is here; that’s all that matters in her book.

“Take me home?” she pleads. She’s tired of the smell of blood and antiseptic; it reminds her of dying that one time and makes her anxious. Anubis quits his evaluation of her forehead to meet her eyes. Nodding, he steps back and offers her an arm. The room spins slightly as Ryder uses it to lever herself to her feet. Anubis slips alongside and behind her, resting his free had on her hip, between two tears in her leathers, and giving her the length of his body to stabilise herself. 

They hobble to the front desk. “I’m signing her out,” Anubis growls. 

“Name?” the receptionist enquires boredly. “Lazuli Sara Ryder,” Ryder responds, scowling when the man behind the desk frowns. 

“You’re not cleared for release,” he informs them. “The doctor wants to stitch that and give you a general examination.” He gestures vaguely toward her head wound. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Anubis snarls.

“Are you a doctor?” The receptionist is completely unperturbed by the annoyance in Anubis’ flat denial and Ryder’s headache ratchets up another notch. “It’s fine. Give me whatever release form you need signed,” she snaps. “There are people far worse off than me.”

“Than _I_ ,” mutters the receptionist as he stabs two keys on his keyboard. The printer coughs and spits out three pieces of paper. “Sign,” he snaps, shoving a pen and two of the papers at Ryder. Her vision swims when she tries to read them and she slides everything to Anubis, assuming forgery is among the man’s many talents. 

He takes up the pen and signs in such a close approximation of her signature that Ryder almost forgets her headache in her surprise. “Not bad,” she compliments him. 

“Only the best for you,” he says between gritted teeth before turning back to the receptionist. “Anything else?”

“You’re free to go,” the other man replies, shoving the last piece of paper at them, rolling his eyes and sitting back in his chair, his body language indicating that he certainly can’t be held responsible for the rash behaviour of concussed fools. After a cursory glance, Anubis folds it neatly and tucks it in his pocket.

The drive home is a sickening spin of flickering lights and moving cars. Ryder knows Anubis is being careful but she’s dizzy by the time they make it back to Regent’s Park. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmurs when she makes it inside. Ryder nods, accepting his help up the stairs and into the bathroom. He pauses at his side of the bed for the knife he keeps taped to the frame and uses it to cut her out of bike leathers stiffened with blood and studded with tiny nuggets of safety glass. 

Ryder doesn’t object. The leathers are shredded, the heavy plastic at elbow and knee worn through or torn off in her long skid along the asphalt, but they did their job. She waits, tired yet determined to stay awake, as Anubis finishes with her clothes, then pulls tweezers, a square tin, needle, and thread out of the drawer.

“What’s that for?” she asks, frowning at the tweezers. He tilts her head to the side, brandishing the them. Ryder allows it, comforted by his taking control. Adrenaline has fled and she’s out of courage for the evening.

Anubis doesn’t answer as he deftly plucks a shard of glass from her shoulder. “This shoulder has a hard time,” he observes, dropping the glass in the square tin and kissing the scar marking the bullet graze she received in her first encounter with the Kett. His lips come away bloody but he doesn’t seem to notice as he pulls a few more sharp fragments from her right arm and thigh. 

Fine tremors start up, making her shiver. _Everything will be okay. Let him take care of you,_ she reminds herself. _You’ve just been in one hell of an accident_. 

When he’s satisfied, he draws her into the shower. Ryder hisses when warm water hits fresh wounds, going rigid under the spray. 

“A little more awake?” Anubis teases darkly, making her snarl. 

“Fuck you,” she growls, her misery equaling her gratitude. 

It’s Reyes. He understands, possibly more as Anubis, and snorts a laugh. 

Taking up the soap, he cleans his hands, then her. She hisses again at the bite of soap over all the tiny wounds where glass has bitten her, but doesn’t object. 

“When the hospital rang me to say there had been an accident I feared the worst,” he says from behind her, kissing her battered shoulder again. Ryder turns, ignoring the complaints of aching arms as she embraces him and presses her lips to his. He breaks away and tips her chin up. “Life without you…”

“Is not going to happen,” Ryder growls, pushing back to kiss him again. The pain of her injuries has faded to a dull ache and his lips taste like survival and relief. Reaching behind her, Ryder turns off the water and gets out. 

She sits on the toilet lid, wincing and wrapped in a towel now spotted with fresh bloodstains, as Anubis stitches the cut in her right eyebrow. His left hand is gentle on her brow, his right so smooth in its motions that she barely feels the tug of thread in her skin. “How many times have you done this?” she asks, the words slipping out before she can stop them. 

Anubis freezes, then finishes tying off the last stitch. “More than is healthy,” he mutters, tucking the needle and thread back into their case. “And enough that you won’t have a scar, or much of one.” Leaning back, Anubis examines his work before tucking the case back into the drawer and covering the gash with a wide plaster. “Should hold. If not, we’ll go see Nakamoto. Okay?”

Nodding, Ryder eases to her feet. “Can I sleep now?”

His features soften back toward Reyes. “For two hours at a time,” he says. “But no painkillers.” 

Groaning, Ryder crawls into bed and finds a comfortable position. “Where are you going?” she calls after Reyes when he leaves, hearing the whine in her own voice. 

“Ice,” he shouts back. 

She's half asleep when he returns with a towel-wrapped freezer pack and sets it lightly over the bandage. When Reyes starts humming his sister’s lullaby and stroking her hip, sleep pulls Ryder the rest of the way under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the prompt, seigephoenix!


	14. Swim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiss prompt fill: in the water for a bet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caveat that while I have swum in the Thames for kayak lessons, I absolutely do not recommend it, nor is it really safe or clever.

A splash and the startled richness of Kian’s laughter accompanied a blossoming headache as Reyes pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“I. Will. Kill. You,” he threatened his longtime friend under his breath. Kian only laughed harder, squatting against the low wall separating the footpath from the river. “You had to make it a bet,” Reyes muttered, stripping out of his shirt and chucking it at his friend. His shoes and wallet followed, unfortunately missing the man’s head.

Kian caught his breath long enough to wheeze, “I didn’t think she’d actually _do_ it, mate. Who the _fuck_ takes a bet to swim in the bloody Thames?”

“ _Ryder_ does, you sodding idjit,” Keema snapped, slapping at the back of his head with the hand not holding her drink. Kian tucked into a ball, hiccuping at his knees in between gasps of helpless laughter.

The river was nearly at high tide so it was deep enough for Ryder’s ill-considered leap over the wall not to be deadly, but the swift current and god-only-knows-what in and under the water had Reyes’ heart in his throat as he leaned over to look for her. 

A curly blue head popped up and gasped for air, then started laughing. Ryder spun in the water, found the shore, and waved. The crowd that had assembled to see the outcome of the bet cheered with raucous delight. Someone started roaring a football chant in support and it was broadly picked up as Ryder started to swim to the boat launch slightly upstream, helped toward it by the incoming rush of water.

Reyes went down to meet her, knowing she wasn’t the strongest swimmer and too anxious for her safety to wait at the pub. His bare feet slapped in the fresh mud along the side of the street and he picked his footing carefully, stepping over branches deposited by the river and trying to remember when he’d last gotten a tetanus jab.

Standing ankle-deep in the water lapping at the bottom of the launch, Reyes waited with hands on hips as Ryder splashed up. Instead of getting out, she caught a mooring post and tread water, pulled almost horizontal by the current.

“Bet you wouldn’t come in,” she teased, mischief sparkling in her turquoise eyes. 

“You’re bloody well right I won’t,” he snapped, not amused. “Get out, that river is filthy. It isn’t safe.”

Ryder’s grin widened. “Fraidy cat,” she teased, laughing when he scowled.

“Dammit, Ryder -”

“If you come in and give me a kiss, I’ll give you a forfeit,” she offered, her amusement turning wicked. 

Reyes paused the tirade on the tip of his tongue. He hadn’t won a forfeit from her in months of betting. There were no rules to forfeits; he could ask whatever he wanted. She truly didn’t expect him to get in if she was offering one for a simple kiss. 

Her expression blanked when she realised he was considering the bet. “I’m coming,” Ryder said, starting to close the remaining distance to shore. Reyes met her in waist-deep water, trapping her tight against him with one arm around her waist and one at the back of her neck. “I’ll take that forfeit,” he purred, kissing her soundly. The sweet little noise of dismay trapped in her throat made the disgusting water and wet jeans and general indignity of standing in the Thames well worth it. 

A bobby was waiting for them at the top of the ramp when they made their way back up, flanked by Kian and Keema. Ryder tried to smile but just looked like a child in trouble. Fortunately, Reyes recognised this particular woman as one of Sloane’s, which meant she was on Reyes’ payroll now. 

“Officer,” he greeted her smoothly. 

“Sir. Madam. The Met received a call about a woman going over the wall and into the river. I assume that’s you?” The officer fixed Ryder with a piercing stare. 

“Dropped something, sorry,” Ryder mumbled. 

The officer was having none of it. “You know there’s a fine involved for having the police called out for something like this?” 

“Officer,” Reyes warned. She glanced at him, then looked again. “Do I know you?” 

Putting an edge into his smile, Reyes tilted his head. “Perhaps through a former acquaintance. Sloane Kelly?” 

The officer’s face flushed a red nearly as bright as her hair before going pale. “I see.” She cleared her throat. “Clearly the reports were an overreaction. I’ll be on my way.” 

“Thank you, officer. Your efforts are appreciated,” Reyes replied solemnly. It wouldn’t do to have the officer feel as though she’d lost face in the encounter. He reached toward Kian and the man slapped his wallet into his palm. “Please, take my card. If there are any... _complications_...I’d be happy to help work them out.” The hundred pound note he slipped her with the card probably wouldn’t hurt; he already knew she could be bought. 

Her eyebrows flashed up at the card and the note, an avaricious smile replacing her fear. “Thank _you_ , sir. Enjoy the weather.” She turned to go and the group waited a few moments in silence. 

“No more river bets,” Reyes snapped, harshly enough that Kian winced, Ryder jumped, and the departing bobby quickened her step. Keema just rolled her eyes and said, “You two stink of river water. Go wash up. We’ll wait for you at the pub.”

Sighing, Reyes reached for his shirt and shoes. Keema handed Ryder her purse. “We’ll be back in an hour and a half,” Reyes told them, taking Ryder’s hand. 

She threaded her fingers through his and they started for his Chiswick flat, a quick mile and a half up the road. “What are you asking for your forfeit?” Ryder asked after five minutes of silence.

Reyes glanced at her sideways and grinned, pleased despite being wet and dirty in ruined jeans and damp shoes. “You’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the prompt, obvidalous!


	15. Truth or Dare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kiss prompt: In Vino Veritas

Reyes wasn’t sure how he’d let Laz talk him into a game of Truth or Dare, but after their fourth whiskey each they’d given up on dares and gone for truths. This was dangerous territory for him, far more than any dare Laz could come up with. Daring he had in plenty...but he had secrets aplenty as well. Many of which he still hadn’t revealed to the love of his life. 

The woman in question had been staring at him for too long, running a slim finger around the edge of her glass. The motion reminded him of their first meeting, when he’d used it to distract her, and while he’d never change anything about the last year and a half he did sometimes wish she was still as naive as she had been then. 

Of course, if she was still that naive she’d have been a throwaway toy, fun for an evening or even a month, and not the person he loved more than he’d ever thought he could love someone.

Which was why his heart raced in his chest and his palms were damp - and not from the iced glass he swirled. She was the one person whose reactions he could never quite anticipate and the one person he’d promised not to manipulate. Any one of his secrets could be the one that proved too much for her - or she might brush it off like nothing. He wouldn’t know until she asked whether he’d dodged another bullet. 

“Ask,” he snapped, failing to reach Anubis and mentally cursing himself for letting his nerves get the better of him. It rarely happened and when it did, she was always the cause.

Dark brows lifted. “Touchy,” she mused, pursing her lips. “Truth…” 

“Of course.”

Brows lifting again, Laz took a sip of her drink. _She’s as nervous as I am_ , Reyes realised when she gulped her swallow and barely managed not to cough. It ratcheted his nerves up another notch.

“What are you most afraid of me knowing?” 

_Shit_. A week ago, this would have had a different answer. A safer answer, at least as far as their relationship was concerned. But last week had marked six months of her living with him and he’d had some uncomfortable thoughts since then. Thoughts that had driven him to Tartarus, alone, to get utterly shitfaced and pour out his confusion to Kian and Keema. Laz had been out with Mara but he knew she’d noted the rare case of hangover he’d come home with late the next morning. Noted it and said nothing, did nothing other than cook him a plate of bacon and toast while chattering about her evening with her friend.

Reyes downed his whiskey and poured another, topping up Laz’s. She paled, her tawny skin going slightly grey. 

After another fortifying sip, Reyes blurted, “I think I want to start a family with you.”

Laz wavered and gripped the table. “Jesus, Reyes -”

“Not now,” he hastened to add. “I know we’re still figuring out _this_ ,” he waved generally at his flat, “and I know given how things went with your family maybe it’s not something you want for your life. Shit, I don’t even know if _I_ really want it, or if it’s a good idea given who we are and what we do. But we’re playing Truths and I promised you I wouldn’t lie to you.” 

Silence hovered, thick and stifling, and Reyes pushed away from the table to stand with his back to Laz. The look of blank shock on her face had his stomach churning. “Please don’t run,” he whispered. It wouldn’t be the first time his _pajarillo_ had flown away, but for something like this, she might be too afraid to come back.

Her chair scraped and he crossed his arms, steeling himself for the blow that would be the rustle of her purse and the front door slamming.

When she embraced him from behind, the breath Reyes hadn’t realised he’d been holding whooshed out and he jumped, caught completely off-guard for the first time in years. Laz squeezed him, burying her face between his shoulder blades. 

For minutes that felt like lifetimes, she said nothing. Reyes gripped her wrists like a drowning man clutched flotsam when lost at sea.

“Truth,” he croaked finally, mouth dry. She nodded, her forehead rubbing against his spine. “Would you ever consider it?” 

She tensed but didn’t pull away. After another long minute, she said, “Yes,” the word muffled against his back. 

Something broke in Reyes’ chest, the sensation similar to what he’d experienced when she’d died after the Archon’s ship. This time, there was no-one to be strong for and he pushed out of her arms to kneel. _She’s not running. She said yes_. 

“But not anytime soon,” Laz added, stepping back to the table. Dropping to the floor, she handed him his glass of whiskey. “And not until you have Anubis thoroughly under control. Assuming I ever get there at all.” 

“Fair,” he murmured, taking a long draught. She joined him and they sat side by side on the hardwood, shoulders brushing each other. “I think I’m done playing,” she muttered after another sip. 

Reyes grunted his agreement. “I thought you’d leave if I told you.” 

Laz winced and took a large swallow of her own. “You promised not to lie. I promised not to run if you told the truth. It wouldn’t be fair to box you in but leave myself an out. _I_ certainly wouldn’t put up with it, anyway, and I couldn’t expect it of you, either.” Another swallow of whiskey. “Besides, if I didn’t want the answer, I shouldn’t have asked the question.” 

Setting his glass down, Reyes took her face in both hands and kissed her. She was breathless when he broke it, eyes wide, lips still parted. “Whatever happens,” he said, “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the prompt, DragonWriter!


	16. Switch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laz takes a turn as top. Minor spoiler for the end of All or Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, bondage smut. Inspired by an ask for the 100-Word Drabble Challenge on Tumblr.

“Reyes.”

Laz waited until her boyfriend put down the report he'd been reading to continue. Amber eyes met hers, completely neutral, which meant he was still thinking about the last line he'd read.

“I want to switch,” she said when she had his full attention. Reyes’ gaze focused on her with a sharpness that would have been frightening if she hadn't been certain he'd never hurt her. 

Their eyes stayed locked. He always did this on the rare occasions she asked, as though testing her resolve, trying to determine if she was both serious and up to topping him for a change. Laz found the ruthless place that had grown in her after Edinburgh and the Archon’s ship, after shooting Scott and all the hard decisions she'd had to make in the name of her beliefs. Found it, sank into it, unleashed both it and the frustrations she'd been carrying after a month of trying to figure out what the Kett would do next. What to do about ongoing refugee problems, and cybersecurity at Collective, and the fact that Scott still wasn't quite himself yet. 

A small curl of Reyes’ lip gave her his answer before he spoke it. “Then I give myself to you.” 

Laz’ heartbeat kicked up a notch. Sometimes he said no, he wasn't in the right mind space or the mood. She respected that, just as he respected the occasions when she wasn’t in the mood for his games. But when he was in the mood...goosebumps rippled over her.

“Upstairs,” she ordered in her hardest voice. Reyes held her gaze half a second too long. “Don't test me,” she growled. His eyebrows flickered up and down before he rose and headed for the stairs, defiance in every line of his body. Reyes was nothing if not a fighter, and he'd resist every single one of her commands if she allowed it.

She was top this time and wouldn't allow it. “Reyes,” she said warningly. He glanced back, grinned with lips half curved, and went a little faster.

He'd have taught her some of the basics of ropes if only by tying her up as many times as he had. As it happened, he'd also taken the time to show her what he did and how to do it safely to help her understand the process. 

When she was done with him he glared at her from his knees, naked, with arms bound behind his back and secured to a line strung between his ankles. The setup left his front completely accessible and however much he preferred to be the one doing the tying and ordering, something about this situation had his cock hard in front of him. 

Laz toyed with one of her nipples as she looked him over, waiting for him to make a move. Reyes didn't really have a sense of fair play beyond the safeword and their established limits. He respected those absolutely, but would do whatever he could to escape if left the opportunity. Laz knew, because he'd gotten free the first time they'd done this and turned the tables on her. 

That had been fun.

Now though...Laz’ jaw dropped slightly and her heart raced at the sight of her boyfriend, twenty centimetres taller and fifteen kilograms heavier, unable to break free of knots she'd tied. Muscles bunched and rippled as he subtly tested for weak points.

“You learned from the last time,” he admitted finally, looking surprised that her amateur knots held. Laz let the satisfied expression she'd been holding back spread across her face. “Let's get started, then. Safeword and signal? Anything you don't want to do today?”

When he told her, she knelt in front of him. One of Reyes’ favourite games to play with her was orgasm denial so that's what she went for first. “Stay still or you have to watch and get nothing,” she warned. She'd learned too much of his past to feel comfortable striking him with crops or floggers, but this was a man used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it. The frustration of denial and the slight humiliation of bottoming would be painful enough for him. 

Reyes didn't answer, the whiskey-amber of his gaze promising payback if he managed to free himself, but he nodded. 

As her lips wrapped around his cock, Reyes groaned, thighs rock-solid as he stained not to thrust. Laz dug her nails into his ass and took him deep.

The temptation was too much. Reyes bucked his hips and Laz immediately sat up. Reyes snarled a curse in Spanish as Laz said, “ _Stay still_.”

He did better as she bent to her task for a second time. With her hands on his ass, Laz felt the jerk that signaled his orgasm and leaned back. 

Reyes said nothing this time, jaw muscles bunching. He was too proud to give her the satisfaction of voicing how frustrated he was to be on the edge of coming without finishing. 

That was fine with Laz. Leaning back, she propped herself on one elbow, tipping her head back as she slipped the fingers of her other hand between her legs and let her knees drop open. Reyes would have a front-row seat to her pleasuring herself and be forced to watch, unable to touch or be touched - torture for a man who craved both.

She spread her lower lips, dragging one finger over her wetness and up to her clit. “Mmmm, Reyes,” she groaned as she rubbed it. When she brought her head back up to look at him his gaze was fixed on her flickering fingers. Laz slipped one inside herself and Reyes swallowed.

“Not quite enough,” she mused, adding another finger. He glanced at her face, trying to read her. “Do you want a taste?” Laz asked, slowly moving the fingers in and out.

“...Yes,” Reyes admitted. His voice was rough and a small droplet shimmered on the end of his cock.

Laz grinned. “Too bad!” She stood and strutted to the toy drawer to pick out a vibrating dildo. The chair he usually reclined in to watch her on the sybian put her pussy closer to eye level. She sat and switched on the dildo. “That's better,” she groaned as she pushed it in.

Watching Reyes struggle to pretend indifference amused her. He made no such effort when it was Laz bound and helpless but his reaction was the only thing he had control over now. Of course he'd try to hold onto it.

“Reyes,” she said sweetly. Reyes met her eyes. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

His erect cock twitched, but he just glared and ground his teeth. Laz laughed and said, “Tell me and I might.” Reyes licked his lips, gaze flicking from hers to her dripping pussy and back again. She turned the vibration up a notch. “Tell me or I'll just finish here,” she panted. “I'm...ahhh yeah…I'm almost -”

“I want you to fuck me,” Reyes blurted out. His mouth snapped shut as soon as the words were out and frustration lit sparks in his golden eyes. Sex was not a thing he begged for. Ever. He asked consent, of course, but he never begged and always got what he wanted.

Getting him to this point was satisfying.

Laz turned off the dildo and let a smile tug at her lips. Not a nice smile, but the one she wore when she was Pathfinder and close to cracking a system. Reyes tugged at the ropes before he could stop himself. He knew that look; he'd watched her work often enough.

She strode to him, each step neatly in front of the other, then stood before him with her feet on either side of his thighs. “Make me come, first,” she demanded. 

Reyes’ face was impassive as he stared up at her but as always, his eyes gave him away. Sparks of frustration ignited to fury at being restrained and now given orders. Laz’ smile grew and she arched an eyebrow.

“Your loss,” she taunted, taking a step back. Growling, Reyes leaned forward and licked her pussy. “That's better,” Laz purred, threading her fingers through his hair. Usually he had the use of his hands when pleasing her like this. Having them bound behind him forced Reyes to work hard to bring her to climax. It made him rougher than he usually was when he ate her out, which - fortunately for him - turned her on.

One of his other favourite moves was to hold her head in place when he came. She enjoyed the manhandling but was only too happy to return the favour. “Right there, Reyes, don't stop,” she panted, the words catching as she tried to make the whimper a command. He obeyed, then tipped her over the edge with a light nip. 

When she'd finished shuddering, Laz took a step back to consider him. Reyes’ chin shone with her juices. His cock quivered, every muscle was tense, and a hint of desperation pinched the corners of his eyes. 

Tilting her head to the side, Laz nodded approvingly. She didn't have his stamina for these games and this was a rare enough sight that she was willing to give him what he wanted now.

“Shall we go again?” she teased. Anubis stirred behind his eyes as she knelt and wrapped her hand around his cock, giving it a few slow pumps. He gasped when her hand skimmed the swollen head.

Leaning forward, Laz whispered, “Tell me what you want.”

Reyes’ answering growl was almost enough to make her mount him but she resisted. “Tell me,” she prompted again. “And then beg.” 

A string of Spanish curses switched abruptly to English. “Fuck me before my fucking balls burst.”

“Fuck me…”

“ _Please_ , Laz. Fuck!”

 _Good enough_. Laz straddled Reyes, hovering just over the tip of him. “Lazuli,” he pleaded. 

He bit her shoulder and groaned when she sank onto him, sheathing his cock deep inside her. Setting her hands on his shoulders for balance, she rose and fell, rocking at the same time. “Please don't stop,” was a whispered prayer he repeated until his breath caught.

With a roar, Reyes came, biting her hard and sucking at the skin. Laz stayed down but kept moving her hips forward and back until the throbbing pulse of his orgasm stopped. When he released her shoulder she rested her forehead against his. 

“You know me far too well,” Reyes muttered hoarsely. Laz chuckled, kissed him, and rose just enough to let him slip out. She'd worry about the mess later; aftercare came first.

His struggles had tightened the ropes but he waited motionless while she picked the knots free. “There,” she muttered when the last one came loose. Reyes stretched, joints popping, before flopping onto his belly. Laz ran massaging hands over his neck, shoulders, and back, down his legs, and back up again. 

“What do you need?” she asked. Turning his head, Reyes fixed her with golden eyes half-covered by a fall of black hair. Laz froze. Not Reyes. Anubis. 

He rolled slightly and his hand shot out, catching her waist and pulling her down alongside him. “My turn,” he purred against her lips.

“I'm yours,” Laz agreed, kissing him. Getting his own back always brought out the best in her lover.


	17. Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in paradise for Laz and Reyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An expansion of a drabble from the 100-Word Drabble Challenge. This is purely self-indulgent smut-fluff.

Laz finds consciousness by degrees, measured in increasing sensory detail. Crashing waves make a rhythmic susurrus at the edge of her hearing. A warm ray of sun caresses her cheek. A faint breeze toys with the hair covering her face, bringing with it the tang of salt and a teasing hint of gardenia. 

The bed shifts and the sheets whisper. Laz surrenders to the feeling tickling the back of her neck and opens her eyes. 

Moss-edged amber stares back at her. Reyes is so close that she can see the individual patterns of green creeping across the golden brown of his irises, catches the way his pupils expand briefly. It's his only reaction to her awakening.

Laz smiles and brushes the hair off of her face to see him without a veil of blue between them. He does this nearly every morning, not usually so close, but always watching. 

She doesn't understand it; on the rare occasion she's up first her immediate instinct is to fuck with him. Pull a chest hair, tickle his balls, drag a fingernail down his thigh, nip an earlobe. Reyes is impossible to sneak up on, ever watchful, always wary, but he has one weakness: her. His subconscious has stopped registering her as a threat, so Laz strikes when she can. But Reyes…Reyes never strikes back. Not in the mornings. The mornings are for watching her sleep.

Speaking would break the spell, so she says nothing as she rolls onto her side, edges closer, and kisses him. His hands, big and warm, slide under her cheek and over her waist, holding her close. Laz draws him closer still, hooking her leg over his hip to grind against his already-hard cock. 

Reyes groans and uses his weight to roll them. He takes a moment to look down at her on her back, rubs a thumb along her cheekbone, traces a line down to her lips, encircles her throat. Squeezes before continuing down to her nipple. Laz gasps, arcing up as Reyes continues down.

When his tongue finds the pearl of her pleasure she gasps again. One of his hands stays busy at her breast; the other gently parts her, long fingers stroking her core. 

She doesn't have his patience. Waves of pressure are building and she wants to be joined with him when they break. Her rough tug on his hair sparks fire in his gaze as he looks up at her but he heeds her wordless plea. 

His lips meet hers as he plunges into her. The crashing of the waves is punctuated by her cries as Reyes moves, each thrust filling her and hitting just the right place. Laz is almost there when he grips her throat again. “ _Eres mío_ ,” he purrs as he squeezes, and she tumbles over the edge, lost in his body covering hers, merging with hers. She feels the throb of his climax as her inner walls clench around him.

Reyes slows, stops, but stays where he is, resting his forehead against hers. They've broken the silence, but the magic is still there, zinging through both of them wherever they touch. It's in the depths of Reyes’ gaze, the heartbeat she can feel when she puts her hand on his wrist, the soft brush of his hair against her face.

“I'm yours,” Laz whispers back. He kisses her one more time before withdrawing and laying alongside her, one arm holding her against him. Two years ago this would have scared her, but now it’s comforting to let go and enjoy his nearness and attention. She's come to trust that he won’t try to control her, or punish her when she needs space. If he says she's his, it’s because she's given herself to him, not because he's forced her.

“Breakfast on the beach?” she mumbles against his chest. 

“Shower. Coffee,” he mutters back. This holiday has broken none of his routines, but it has made him pensive and occasionally short with words. Something's on his mind but Laz doesn't know if it's being in Costa Rica, and therefore much closer to the shadows of his childhood in Chile, or something else entirely. She lets it go. He knows that he can talk to her when he's ready.

Half an hour later they're at a table on the terrace of a beachside restaurant. Reyes is alert as ever, evaluating staff and passersby with the same intensity as in London. What he's not doing is checking his phone. 

“How's everything at home?” Laz asks around a mouthful of _gallo pinto_. The man doesn't know how to take a holiday. He spent the first three days checking the news, bothering Keema, sending emails, and generally doing the opposite of what they’re here for: relaxing.

Reyes glances at her and freezes for the barest second before smiling lazily and leaning back in his chair, the picture of confident contentment. “I'm sure everything is fine. Keema had everything in hand yesterday.”

Laz forgets her initial suspicion at his reaction and blinks. He hasn't checked in for at least eight hours. _What is going on?_

“I won't be mad if you check,” she offers, spearing a chunk of pineapple and popping it into her mouth. He's impossible to deal with when he feels out of touch and not in control. It's just a thing she accepts about him now. 

He sips his coffee, eyes not leaving hers. “Do you like the house?”

The non sequitur throws Laz. “What?”

“The house. Where we're staying.”

“Yes, it's perfect…” Laz frowns. She's accustomed to his penchant for changing the subject but why now?

Reyes smiles a Cheshire Cat smile and has another sip of coffee. “Good. What do you fancy doing today?”

“Reyes, what -”

The cat's smile is joined by raised eyebrows. He's not going to tell her. Whatever this is, she'll find out on his schedule. Infuriating, but just as he doesn't try to control her, she tries not to take control from him. 

“I was thinking of trying paragliding,” Laz tosses out, expecting revolt. His response throws her for the third time that morning. “I'll join you. Then maybe a swim?”

“Sure,” Laz agrees. _What the hell is he up to?_

***

“Reyes that was _amazing_! I want to go again before we leave. Promise you'll come, please? You're so good at it!” Laz skips ahead as they walk back to their rental house, wishing they could fly again right now. Reyes grins and reaches for her hand, pulling her to him for a kiss. “Promise. Let's go see about some dinner.”

He’s tense under the smile, eyes pinched at the corners, and Laz is dying to ask what the fuck he's hiding. It can't be anything to do with her; he's promised not to do that anymore. _Did something happen at Collective? He hasn't checked in with Keema all day. Aha._ That’s it. Keema probably gave him an earful and the strain of not having his nose in all the details and his hands on the tiller is stressing him out. 

Laz is plotting how to destress him when they get back to their lodging. She stops short behind Reyes when he steps aside and reveals...Laz doesn't even know what. Candles cast a soft glow everywhere, adding their warm glow to that of the lowering sun. Tasteful sprays of local flowers and ferns add bright spots of colour to the stone walls and wood paneling of the main room. A bucket of ice with champagne sits by the table, which is set for a formal dinner.

When Laz recovers, Reyes is grinning at her. “Surprise.”

“Reyes, what is this?” _I should have known there was a reason for him to insist on spending the day joined at the hip!_

He tugs her into the room and pulls out her chair. She's hot and sticky from a day of paragliding, her hair tangled and sand trapped between her toes, but she feels like a queen as she sits.

“You broke into my office two years ago,” Reyes says, kissing the top of her head and moving to his own chair. In a white t-shirt and charcoal grey swim trunks he somehow manages to look dapper as he sits across from her. “From the look on your face, you were as surprised just now as I was then.” 

His cheeky grin makes her laugh. _All this to get me back again for that?_ “I love you, you impossible, amazing man.”

“I know. You're giving me _that_ look,” he replies quietly. Laz knows the look he means: the one that drove him to let her go when he caught her spying on him, the day he killed Sloane. He sobers at the same time she does and Laz knows they're both thinking about how differently their lives could have gone from that point. 

Reyes reaches across the table for her hand and kisses it. “Albeiro!” he shouts. Laz jumps. “ _Listos_.”

A heavyset man in a chef's apron emerges from the kitchen with two steaming bowls. “ _Muy bien señor_ ,” he says. Laz laughs again and claps as Reyes opens the champagne. 

_He can be difficult, but he's worth it_ , Laz thinks as they clink glasses. _If nothing else, he loves me and he tries to make me happy_.

***

Reyes draws her out to the beach later. They've opened a second bottle of champagne and he carries the bottle and glasses. Laz spreads a blanket and they sit, her back to his front. He leans away just enough to pour for them, then wraps himself back around her as she accepts the flute.

They watch the waves lapping at the shore, finding the same peaceful magic that suffused everything that morning. “I want this forever,” Laz murmurs. This house, this beach, this moment with this man...all the struggles over the last couple of years pale beside her happiness now. Reyes nips her shoulder, kisses his way to her neck. His lips brush her ear as he whispers, “Marry me.”

Laz’ heart stops. A gull wheels overhead, its cackling call sounding like laughter. She catches her breath. “What?”

His body shifts away and he plants his glass of champagne in the sand. One hip lifts. When his hand comes back it's holding an open box. A ring glints in the last light from the sun, silver and blue. “Sapphire seemed to suit you better than a diamond,” Reyes says when Laz turns to look at him.

“You're serious,” she breathes. His jaw is clenched and his brow is dimpled in the middle, his eyes darting to hers and away, but he replies, “Yes.”

Laz plucks the ring from its plush bed and looks at it. It's gorgeous in its simplicity but it's not really the ring she's considering. It's what it stands for. 

The last proposal she accepted ended in heartbreak and nearly a restraining order. She lost herself, absorbed completely into another person and subservient to his whims. Scott turned his back on her and she was more alone than she'd ever been. It took years to rebuild her shattered sense of self.

Reyes shifts again, leaning back to rest on his hands, giving her space. “You don't have to -”

“Yes.”

He blinks and cuts off mid-sentence, eyes wary. “Really?” 

Laz looks at him a moment longer before slipping the ring over her finger. Reyes is a flawed man, dangerous, haunted by a hard past and dark moods. But he's also her best friend, the person who understands her without words. He's intelligent and funny and hard working. He'd kill to protect her and die to save her, calls her “ _pajarillo_ ” and then does everything he can to be the wind lifting her wings. He's nothing like Xavier.

Reyes is nothing like anyone. 

She turns and straddles him, following him down when he drops to his elbows. “Yes,” she repeats. He flops to the ground as though the last of his strength is gone. The tension tightening his face and shoulders flows away.

“Good,” he laughs, “because I already bought the house.”

Laz stops a centimetre away from kissing him. “You what?”

Reyes tips his head back toward the house. “I bought it. And the beach, of course. There's also a little mango grove…” He trails off, searching her face. “After the last few days it just…felt...right. But only with you.”

 _He's as scared as I am_ , Laz realises. She presses her lips to his, gently at first but then with increasing ardor. _We're doing this. I'm his, but he's mine, too. And we'll figure it all out together._

The sun sinks below the horizon, gilding the water before it shifts to black under a sky painted in pink, then purple, then the dark navy of night. Stars pierce through, diamond pinpricks shining bright as a new moon gives way before them.

Nothing matters but this moment, their love, and the future they'll build together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: [This Town ft Sasha Sloan - Kygo](https://youtu.be/0pwttmAYCTw)


	18. New Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laz's Saturday morning scheme backfires and has her learning something new when Reyes plays along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt fill: “You seriously expect me to believe you’ve never done this before?” 
> 
> Warning: smut, anal sex.

Reyes closed his eyes as the first sip of coffee hit his tongue. He had an Americano in hand and a light breakfast waited for Laz to join him whenever she got herself out of bed. New reports were queued up for his review.

The blare of electronic music shattered the morning's peace. Reyes tensed, then sighed and rolled his eyes. “Lazuli, can you not even wake up quietly?” he shouted. The roar of the vacuum answered him. 

Laz strutted into view in blue panties and nothing else, pushing the Hoover ahead of her. Reyes stared, captivated by the lace clinging to the curve of her ass. This was intentional; when he’d woken up next to her she had been naked. The strategic nature of those panties irritated and aroused him in equal measure, doubly so when he decided that had been the point. 

“Laz.”

She ignored him, leaning to push the Hoover under the coffee table. Her form bent in a way that had him thinking of pinning her down and... _Control yourself._

Control himself or not, Reyes hadn't fucked Laz in the ass yet and it was _right there_. Come to think of it, there was a lot he hadn’t tried with her yet. Options ran through his mind as he considered which she'd most likely be amenable to.

He was still considering as she finished vacuuming, cocked a hip and wound the cord over her shoulder and between thumb and forefinger. Her back was to him and the tattoo running down her spine taunted him even more than usual. Reyes’ cock reminded him that he hadn't had her today and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“If you don't stop that I'm going to fuck you til you can't stand,” he growled. 

Laz grinned as she met his eye over her shoulder. “You say that like it would be a bad thing.” 

He held her gaze despite the temptation to look back at her ass.

“Don't fuck with me, _pajarillo_.”

“But it's so much fun, love.” 

A new song came on and she whooped, rolling her hips before sauntering to the kitchen and taking up a pair of gloves. Reyes groaned and slumped. It was her turn to clean and the flat needed it, but that meant waiting an hour - probably more, given her distracted dancing - and his throbbing cock did not want to wait that long. 

“I mean it.”

“Do your worst.”

Reyes smiled and let Anubis out. She’d given him the opening. “I will.” 

That gave Laz pause. She froze in the middle of the kitchen, looking equal parts ridiculous and sexy in her panties and rubber gloves. He gestured for her to continue what she was doing and slouched to watch. 

The high-handed gesture had the desired effect. Laz scowled, a devilish light sparking in her turquoise eyes as she turned back to the counter and started scrubbing. 

Over the next hour she did everything in her power to wind him up. Her darting glances broadcasted her frustration that he stayed where he was, sipping his coffee and eyeing her over his mug. He couldn’t hide the erection, but he could refuse to do anything about it. Action delayed increased the anticipation for both of them.

“Clean enough?” she snapped when she’d finished, stripping off the gloves and throwing everything into the sink. 

Anubis rose, strolled into the kitchen, and ran a finger along the counter. “Motherfucker,” Laz growled under her breath behind him. Without looking, Anubis twisted, reached for her, caught her by the back of the neck, and pulled her around in front of him. “This was your game,” he said as she gasped. “I’m just playing along.”

The defiance in her eyes melted to desire as his other hand dipped between her legs. “You said to do my worst,” he reminded her. “I can do that, or we can ease into something new.” 

She panted, squirming in his grasp when his fingers didn’t stop the slow teasing of her clit through her panties. “Something new.”

He kissed her, pleased. Novelty was the spice of life, after all, and she knew he’d push her if she let him. That she trusted him to introduce her to a new way to play was gratifying.

Laz melted into him, her lips hungry against his. He’d been right; this morning had backfired and she was at least as hot for him as he was for her. 

“I’ll give you options,” Anubis said. “Sex in public.” A kiss on her left eyelid. “Hot wax.” Another kiss on the other eyelid. “Or I fuck this ass.” The hand between her legs skimmed over her hip to squeeze the ass in question as he kissed her forehead. 

“You seriously expect me to believe you’ve never done those before?” Laz said. Anubis nibbled on her neck. “I never said it was new to me.” 

“How do you know -” 

“Tell me you’ve done any of those.” 

Laz said nothing, squirming against him as he made his way back to her mouth and captured it, keeping her pressed against the hardness of his cock. 

“So?” he prompted. She licked her lips. “I thought so. Stop stalling and make a choice, or propose something else.” 

“Ass,” she said. 

With a satisfied chuckle, Anubis backed her far enough away from the counter that she wouldn’t hit her head when he threw her over his shoulder. Laz yelped but allowed it and he nipped the cheek closest to him, unable to help himself. He’d had her pussy and her face so many times he’d lost count. Now she was giving him the last part of her. It was worth the self-control this morning.

“I’m not going to tie you up this time,” he told her when he settled her belly-down on the bed, “so all you need to do is tell me to wait or stop.” She’d need to be worked up to it first, but that by itself would be diverting even if he didn’t actually get to fuck her today. 

When he had her consent, Anubis pulled out the lube and the set of training plugs he’d bought a long time ago and kept buried in the back of the toy drawer. “Relax," he advised, kissing her, “and remember we can stop at any time.” 

He started with a well-lubricated finger, letting her get used to the sensation before he worked his way through the series of plugs. When he’d reached the bigger ones he did more to reward her: massages, kisses, a vibrator. When she was ready, she told him to move to the next one up.

Anubis would have stopped had she asked; he never wanted to cross a line. But she never halted the training and he knew the expression she wore, the slack jaw and fluttering eyelashes against the duvet. It hurt, but was the kind of pain she’d once described as igniting both her blood and her passion. 

His little bird was a true masochist, one of the few he’d met who could embrace pain and find satisfaction in it. She was the perfect complement to and outlet for the side of him that needed complete control and found some pleasure in causing hurt. Anubis could be satisfied with domination and controlled pain rather than blood and death.

“Are you ready for me?” he asked when he judged her prepared. 

“Yes,” Laz breathed, meeting his eyes. He wouldn’t last long, having been more or less hard throughout her training. Maybe that was for the best. Anubis lubed up and kissed her again before pressing into her. 

She hissed, whimpered, then moaned. He waited a minute, shifting to blanket her body with his and murmur soothing words before easing back and then in again. 

It was the slowest he’d ever taken her. Somehow that was hot, despite their usual preference for hard and fast. Her ass clamped tight around him; his climax threatened him within the first few strokes. Anubis brought the vibrator back into play, reaching around her to stimulate her clit as he fucked her. She gripped the arm around her chest, the one he was using to support himself above her, and groaned his name. 

“What do you want?” he grunted when he was close, wanting her to enjoy this enough that she’d be open to it again. 

“A little more…” 

Anubis used every ounce of his skill to bring her to orgasm before he finished. Laz shuddered beneath him in completion as he came. He allowed himself a moment before withdrawing, finding himself clean enough to lay with her. 

“Thank you,” he purred, pulling her onto her side and close to him. 

“That was a lot better than I thought it would be,” Laz mumbled, snuggling closer. 

Anubis propped himself on an elbow and brushed her hair away from her face. She looked sated, at peace, like she did after he tied her up and used her hard. “Would you do it again?”

A small smile curled the corner of her lip. “If you made it feel like that, yeah.” 

His chest swelled with pride and satisfaction. She was his, in every single way.


	19. Please Don't Do This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laz comes home to find Reyes on the cusp of a dangerous decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: dark!Reyes
> 
> Prompt fill for the December supporter giveaway, from obvidalous (Dona Laura) to anon. Hope you both enjoy!

Laz breezed into the flat she shared with Reyes -- his in name, but hers now, too -- and frowned when the anticipated smell of dinner wasn't there. The flat was dark except for what must be the light from the dining room. No jazz played, nor did she hear the comforting cadence of his voice on the phone.

He liked the distraction of people and light and noise. He said he didn't, grumbling at her about her mess and her music, especially if it was her EDM blasting at odd hours, but she knew it comforted him not to be alone in the dark with his thoughts.

Except when it did.

 _Something is wrong_. Reyes had left work early, popping into her office to give her a lingering hug and a kiss on the cheek from behind. Laz mentally kicked herself; she'd been buried in code and had only absently patted his arm as she tried to work out the kinks in a new algorithm. But Reyes never simply hugged her from behind and slipped out. There should have been teasing, an attempt to startle or arouse her.

“Shit,” she muttered, quietly dropping her things in a heap. Raising her voice, she called, “Reyes?” 

No answer. Laz made her way to the dining room, quietly but not so quietly that he'd think someone was trying to sneak up on him. When she made it to the dining room she stopped cold, unable to help a small gasp. “Oh, Reyes,” she whispered.

She'd never seen the full contents of the safe he kept in his closet. It was one of the things she knew better than to ask about. He needed some of his secrets more than she needed to know everything.

Now she wished she'd asked.

Reyes didn't move as she stepped carefully into the room and took in everything he'd laid out on the dining table. Guns with silencers, little boxes of bullets, knives of various sizes, garotte wire, and the oil and cloth to clean it all. His favourite pistol, the one that usually lived in his desk drawer, sat in front of him.

“Anubis,” Laz said, trying to keep the fear from her voice. Not fear _of_ him; he'd never hurt her. Fear _for_ him. This was a man preparing for war.

Finally, he reacted, turning to her. “I thought that was you,” he said in cool tones that sent goosebumps to prickle her. Her breath caught again. Laz was accustomed to seeing this side of him but hadn't realised until now that she usually got the playful assassin. 

This person, she'd only seen once before: when she crouched on a walkway in a warehouse and watched him kill Sloane and Zia.

“Who?” she asked, hoping she sounded calmer than she felt. He watched her with a jaguar's unpitying green-gold gaze as she slowly pulled out the chair across from him and sat. 

“Ortiz,” he said, and she tried to remember if he'd ever mentioned that name before. _No, this is another one from the depths_.

“What happened?”

Reyes studied her, but she got the feeling it was himself he was evaluating, not her. He knew the rules. No lies. If he didn't want her to know or to ask, he wouldn't have spread his kit all over the dining table. He'd have disappeared to one of the hidey-holes she knew he still had scattered around London and come back when he was done, or gone to Tartarus to drown himself in whiskey.

 _Fuck, this is a cry for help. He doesn't want to do whatever it is but feels trapped_.

Moving slowly, she reached across the table and took his hand. Reyes stiffened but didn't pull free, hesitating before he squeezed hard enough to grind the bones together. Laz winced but didn't move. _He's terrified_.

“He's back. There's a job.”

She waited for the rest, knowing that if he was still here it would come, just in his time and not at the speed of her racing heart.

“Ortiz got me into this life. He said I was steady. And hungry.” Anubis wasn't here, he was somewhere in the past from the distance in his eyes. “Gave me a passport. More money than I knew what to do with. All I had to do was this.” He pointed at the table with a jerk of his chin. “I'm good at it. I...liked it.”

The short, clipped sentences scared her more than anything else; even as Anubis, he had a silver tongue. Whatever this Ortiz had asked, Reyes saw no way out and had fully retreated into the safest corner if his mind.

 _No. He sees a way out. Me. He's just not going to ask for it_. For all his charm and forward-thinking, Reyes was old-school -- the man of the house, who brought in the income and handled the threats. Oh, he was happy for her to do the same, but deep down he'd been conditioned to think it was all on him. 

It wasn't. They were partners. His burdens were hers. He had helped her with Archon and she would help him with this.

“Anubis,” she said, waiting until he gave her the full attention of those dead eyes, “Don't do this.”

He stared at her, unblinking. “He threatened Kian.”

 _And there's the rest of it. It's killing him to have people he cares about_. 

“I'll take care of it. Please don't do this.”

Still, he hesitated. _I can't let him do this or I'll lose him_. Kian had told her a little of what Reyes had been in the early days. He’d liked the blood too much at the end. Whether he killed the mark or Ortiz, there was too much of his past here. It was too personal. She had faith in him, but why risk it when she could help? _I won't lose him. Not like this_.

“Listen to me,” Laz snapped, angry now that anyone would threaten either of the men she cared about most. “Does he know about me?”

“No.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes.”

“Then I. Will. Take care of this. Give me his phone number and anything else you have on him.”

Raw terror broke through the mask, twisting Laz's stomach. “Don't call him. He can't know -”

“Shh, hey, it's okay. He won't know I even exist.” Laz stood and came around the table, almost choking on the sudden urge to vomit. Reyes was the most frightening, in-control person she knew, but he lived by a code. What the hell kind of people did he know for him to react like this -- and what was their code?

 _Doesn't matter_. She needed to bring him back from the edge but he was in no state to play one of their games, so innocent comfort was all she could offer. “I'm the best hacker in the world, remember? I’m a ghost.” She swallowed against the shards of her broken heart rising into her throat at seeing him like this, tried to make her voice soothing and confident. “Whatever it is, I'll make it, and him, go away.” 

He quivered under her arms, stopping himself from the reflex to fight his way out, and she held him tighter. “We're a team. I love you. You don't have to handle this alone. I won't let you.” 

Slowly, he relaxed, his muscles still tense, but only the tension of stress rather than forcibly repressed movement. “Please let me help?” she murmured against his ear, starting to hum that haunting little lullaby he only sang when he thought she was sleeping.

At last, he slumped. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow this came to me as soon as I read it, which was about 10 minutes after waking up, and was written within an hour. *whispers* that rarely happens.  
> Thanks for the prompt!
> 
> Ortiz was first mentioned in [Kings and Blood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14889203%22).


	20. You Feel Like Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Laz has off days. Reyes is there for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy prompt fill for oceaneyes000 as part of my December 2018 giveaway. Hope you're feeling better!

More often than not, Laz was a bouncing ball of indomitable energy, animated by some spirit or inner music that Reyes knew he’d never hear. He didn’t need to, content to live vicariously through her, to follow her light through the dark. 

There were moments, though, when the music stopped and the light dimmed. She would grow quiet, withdrawn, sullen, distant, going somewhere he couldn’t follow. When he found her sitting in the window seat, an untouched cup of tea gone cold next to her as she looked out at the rain, he knew it was one of those times. 

Sometimes Reyes left her as she was. He could never quite predict what Laz would do and sometimes trying to help got his head bitten off. There was something about today, though...something he should remember. _Ah. The anniversary of her mother’s death_. It was one of the few areas where their experiences overlapped. 

In him, it brought on a deep, melancholic slump and the conviction that he needed to stay away from everyone to keep them safe. In her, it brought out an aching need for love that she always pushed away, fearing it weak, preferring to stand alone and pretend she needed no-one.

Laz didn’t look at him as he joined her in the window seat, pulling her knees up to her chest and holding herself tight. He didn’t look directly at her, either, watching her with his peripheral vision as he leaned back against the wall and followed the path of a rivulet of water down the panes of glass. All he needed to do was be here, and be patient. 

The first crack in her facade was a sniffle, followed by a rough movement to scrub at her cheeks. The second was the dart of her eyes toward him and away again. Reyes shifted to rest one knee against the window, resting his open hand palm up on the other leg, still looking out the window. Holding himself apart, but providing the temptation of refuge. 

Another glance at him, accompanied by the tensing of her body as she tried to keep herself alone. Reyes slouched a little more, letting his limbs flop wide and loose.

Slowly, hesitantly, Laz scooted closer, a little at a time until she turned and settled with her back to his front. Still, Reyes didn’t move, didn’t do anything to suggest she needed him to provide comfort. 

Finally, her shoulders dropped and she shuddered. That was his cue to casually fold himself around her, not restraining but welcoming. 

The rain started easing up before she spoke. 

“You know what I love best about you, Reyes?”

“Mmm?” Words might break the spell. He had a reputation for being silver-tongued, but part of that was knowing when not to speak. 

“You’ve always felt like home.” 

Reyes couldn’t help squeezing her then, knowing that it risked making her run but too completely overcome to stop himself. She grunted and he relaxed his hold, expecting her to go hide somewhere else and surprised when she snuggled closer and whispered, “Being with you...it’s the first time I’ve felt like I had a home since she died.”

He didn’t know how he’d managed that, being a former hitman of admittedly questionable mental and emotional stability and having had an appalling model for what a home should be, but he’d take it. 

She felt like home to him, too.


	21. Flexibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reyes reaps the rewards of being a good instructor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prompt fill for my December 2018 giveaway for the smut prompt "Flexibility", and a gift from carolyntheclockworkangel to alyssalenko on Tumblr. Thank you, hope you both enjoy!

The low, soothing voice emanating from Laz’s home office was strange enough that it drew Reyes’s attention from the reports he was working on in the office on his side of the flat. Usually, his smooth jazz warred with the chaos of his finacée’s unending stream of dance music when they both worked from home, the closed doors between them doing nothing to mute the bassy thud combining with breathy vocals and a tempo that didn’t match any of his natural rhythms. 

Crashing ocean waves and calm instruction distracted him more than the familiar beat of EDM and Reyes found himself following the sounds to the room she’d taken over.

“What are you doing?” he asked transfixed by the sight. Laz only exercised when he made her train, as he had during the hunt for Archon, or when he did something strenuous in bed. She kept her figure more through diet than movement, spending long hours at the computer rather than the gym. He didn’t recognise the flattering turquoise leggings with triangle cut-outs from ankle to mid-thigh, or the loose top that fell open from the nape of her neck to the small of her back.

“What's it look like,” she snapped, checking that she was centered at the front of a yoga mat so new it still smelled of foam and reaching for the sky. A tablet was propped open in front of her, the source of both the ocean sounds and the instructor’s voice. “Yoga. Keema said, and I quote, ‘I don’t care if you blow off steam with yoga or simply blow Reyes, but you need to calm your tits or I will calm them for you.’ End quote. ”

 _Ah. The meeting where she lost her temper and snapped Aquila’s head off_. Reyes suppressed his amused grin. Laz and Ric Aquila had never gotten along and each of them thought themselves the superior of the other. He had made a mental note to do something about it before it escalated into something less amusing and more dangerous, and was pleased that Keema had stepped in instead. This way, he could reap the benefits in more ways than one without having to be the bad guy.

With a frown, Laz folded forward, obvious in her efforts to ignore him, then with hands pressed to the mat, hopped back into downward dog. 

“Hips up,” he prompted after a moment, a muscle in his cheek twitching as he tried to hide a smirk at her glare.

“Go fuck yourself.” 

“NahI’mastay,” he said, taking a step in, so amused by his own pun that a chuckle slipped out. Apparently, she was familiar enough with yoga that she caught the play on _namaste_ , if the colorful curses dropping from her on her long exhale were any indication. “Seriously, _amor_.” She went back to ignoring him as he took up a position behind her and, with a light touch, lifted the crease of her hips while pressing the middle of her back.

She grunted but allowed him to guide her. “Heels lower, if you can,” he murmured while the woman on the app kept talking about breathing in and out. Laz brought her heels a centimetre closer to the mat, the minute plays of the muscles moving under her bare skin doing more to turn him on just now than a strip tease would. 

Reyes had always been good with bodies and good with his hands, relishing in manipulating the physical. It had made him an excellent hitman and he enjoyed using the skills for something other than killing or sex -- especially if it meant being free to appreciate his fiancée’s tight little ass in her yoga kit. Unable to help himself, he rubbed a thumb along her hip. She’s not wearing anything under this but herself. Shit.

The class she’d chosen was apparently one for flexibility and he spotted her through lunges and twists, standing balances and knots, gently tapping or nudging her into better alignment, but only when she glanced at him for guidance. Not that she asked for his help, nor would she, but she’d allow him to play instructor and push her a little. 

When the instructor got to _savasana_ , Laz ignored the instruction to lie flat on her back and close her eyes. Reyes lifted his eyebrows. “Well? You need the cool-down. It’s restorative.”

“I don’t want to cool down yet,” she growled, easing to her feet with far more grace than she’d had an hour ago. “And since when did you know anything about yoga?”

“Us retired hitmen need to stay limber,” he said with a grin. “You didn’t think all I did was running and krav maga, did you?”

“Kind of,” she muttered, stepping close for a kiss and brushing the throbbing hard-on tightening his trousers. “Oh, my,” she breathed, wiggling to grind against it. Reyes hissed, unable to help from gripping her ass to hold her snug against him. “Does playing instructor…” She nuzzled against his neck and kissed her way to his ear. “...turn you on?”

“Maybe,” he said, keeping up the tension by restraining himself. A sharp nip at his earlobe made him gasp. “Okay, yes.”

“And what do I need to work on?”

“Bridge pose,” he said immediately. Laz stayed pressed against him as she slid the leggings down and pushed them off with her feet before kissing him and stepping back to the mat.

Given that he was playing instructor he made her actually assume the pose before he disrobed and sank down in front of her, getting off on increasing both their frustration. After that, Reyes let her cheat a little, figuring she’d be more comfortable resting against his thighs with a pillow under her shoulders. It gave him more leeway to drive her mad with his fingers as she lay back in front of him, feet spread to keep her balance. 

She was panting, muscles trembling, before he slipped his knees out from under her, letting her rest against the floor for all of two seconds before sliding smoothly into her. The soothing ocean noise was still playing in the background and he kept his pace as slow as the crashing waves, aiming for relaxation rather than frenzied passion. 

Climax was slow in coming for both of them, but it built and surged thrust by thrust until Laz was practically in tears begging him to finish it. 

“ _Mirame_ ,” he whispered, catching her chin and drinking in all of the intensity churning behind her eyes. She didn’t look away as he sped up, angling his hips to hit her g-spot until they both peaked. 

As they lay on the sweat-soaked mat, Reyes reminded himself to thank Keema for suggesting yoga. He’d never have suggested it to Laz himself.


End file.
